The Sun.
London, England, 1848-03-20 00:00:00

EVENING, MARCH 20,,1848,.

" A sunless pool was near
As coon blat, and yet as elaystal Clear."

Li the pool vt ere revealed the dread shadows of the
Future—shadows which displayed to the anointed
eyes cf the monarch the subjugation of his realms,
the slavery of his people, and the ultimate triumph of
the Saxons.
" Then spoke the hell-born shadow by my side—
' 0 King, who deer meat, amid sweets and bloom,
Life, like one summer holiday, can glide,
Blind to the storm cloud of the coming do-..m;
Arthur Pendragon, to the Saxon's sway
The kingdom and thy crown shall pass away.'
"' And who art thou, that heaven's august decrees
Usurpest thus ?' I cried, and lo the space
Was void ?—Anafht the horror of the trees,
And by the pool, which mirrored back the face
Of Dark in claystal darkness—there I stood,
And the Sae Spectre was the Solitude
After this thrilling and austere description, King
Arthur utters a sublime adjuration to the great God
—an adjuration worthy both of his royalty and his
knighthood.
" Grant this—a freeman's, if a monarch's prayer !
LIFE, while my life one man from chains can save;
While earth one refuge, or the cave one lair,
Yields to the closing struggle of the brave !
Mine the last desperate but avenging band,
If reft the sceptre, not resign'd Cie brand."
Merlin embraces the young king in a burst of
admiration, and then invokes the power of light and
darkness to solve the riddle of the apparition. The
invocation is scarcely completed when the dragon-
keep is shaken to its foundations, as by an earth-
quake, and Arthur swoons. On returning to con-
sciousness he finds that a beautiful morning has
dawned over Cardetel, and that the magician is watch-
ing beside his couch. Then follows the revelation of
Merlin, which is the key-note of the poem :
" Prince," said the prophet, " with this morn awake
From pomp, from pleasure, to high toils and brave;
From yonder wall the arms of knighthood take,
But leave the crown the knightly arms may save;
O'er mount and vale, go, pilgrim, forth alone,
And win the gifts which shall defend a throne.
" So speak the fates—till in the heavens the sun
Rounds his revolving course, 0 King, return
To man's first, noblest birthright, toil:—so won
In Grecian fable, to the ambrosial urn
Of joyous Hobe, and the Olympian grove,
The labouring son Alcmene bore to Jove.
" By the stout heart to peril's sight enured,
By the wise brain which toil has stored and skill'd,
Valour is school'd and glory is secured,
And the large ends of fame and fate fulfilled:
But hear the gifts thy year of proof must gain,
One left unwon, and all the quest is vain.
" The Falehion, welded from a diamond gem,
Guarded by Genii in the sparry caves
Where springs a forest from a single stem,
Shadowing a temple built beneath the waves;
Where bitter charms grant gifted eyes to mark
The lake's weird lady in her noiseless bark.
" The silver shield in which the infant sleep
Of Thor was cradled,—now the jealous care
Of the fierce dwarf whose home is on the deep,
Where drifting icorocks clash in lifeless air;
And war's pale sisters smile to see the shock
Stir the still curtains round the couch of Lek.
" And last of all—before the iron gate
Which (-pea its entrance at the faintest breath,
But bath no egress; where remorseless fate
Sits, weaving life, within the porch of death;
There with meek fearless eyes, and leeks of gold,
Back to warm earth thy childlike guide behold.
" The sword, the shield, and that young playmate guide
Win; and the fiend, predicting wrath, shall lie;
Be danger braved, and be delight defied,
Front death with dauntless, but with solemn eye;
And the' dark wings hang o'er these threatened halls,
Tho' war's red surge break thundering round thy walls,
" The', in the rear of time, these prophet eyes
See to thy sons, thy Cymrians, many a woo;
Yet from thy loins a race of kings shall rise,
Whose throne shall shadow all the seas that flow;
Whose empire, broader than the Ctusar woo,
Shall clasp a realm where never sets the sun.
" And thou, thyself, shalt live from age to age,
A thought of beauty and a type of lame ;
Not the faint memory of some mouldering page,
But by the hearths of men a household name!
Theme to all song, and marvel to all youth—
Beloved as fable, yet believed as truth."
Thereupon the sovereign bounds from his couch of
dalliance, and girding himself in his armour, and
mounting his war-horse, issues forth upon his adven-
tures. At this instant the poet paints his hero in
befitting colours—colours worthy of " the pomp of
spring," through which the ideal monarch is pro
ceeding

KING ARTHUR.
" Of brightest steel (but not emboss'd with gold,
As when in tournies rode the royal knight),
His arms flash sunshine back; the azure fold
Of the broad mantle, like a wave of light,
Floats tremulous, and leaves the sword-arm free.
Fair was that darling of all poetry!
" Thro' the raised vizor beamed the fearless eye,

The limped mirror of a stately soul; _
Bright with young hope, but grave with purpose high;
Sweet to encourage, steadfast to control;
An eye from which subjected hosts might draw,
As from a double fountain, love and awe.

" The careless curl, that from the helm escaped,
Gleaned in the sunlight, lending gold to gold.
The features, clear as by a chisel shaped,
Made manhood godlike as a Greek's of old;
Save that, in hardier, bolder lines, looked forth
The soul that nerves the warchild of the North.

" O'er the light limb, and o'er the shoulders broad,
The steel flowed pliaut as a silken vest;
Strength was so supple that like grace it showed,
And force was only by its ease contest;
Ev'n as the storms in gentlest waters sleep,
And in the ripple flows the :nighty deep."
- -

At the outset of his romantic pilgrimage, the King
encounters his special favourite and friend, Lancelot
the True—Lancelot of the Lake ; his other two
friends being Gawaine the Frank, and Caradoc the
Mild. The first book closes with the farewell of
Lancelot. So far we have tracked the thread of the
narrative with elaborate minuteness, because the
introductory book develops, in a peculiar manner,
the motives of the story, and simplifies the
otherwise inexplicable complexity of the inci-
dents. In recounting the subsequent adventures
we shall be intentionally and necessarily more con-
cise. Book 11. opens with the mourning of the
three; friends, Caradoc, Gawaine, and Lancelot, for
the departure of Arthur. Merlin declares that one
of the three is permitted to follow the King, bidding
them separately to the forest, where an omen is to
decide the selection. During their absence the
magician pronounces an exquisite soliloquy to a
fountain, for which see B. 11., st. 18-24. Lancelot
proves the fortunate recipient of the omen, and ob-
tains from Merlin a magic ring, in the chrystal of
which a fairy hand points perpetually in the direction
of the wanderer. Arthur meanwhile has proceeded
on his travels, guided by a milk-white dove as his
guardian. He crosses the channel and arrives at the
court of the Vandal King Ludovick. This Ludovick
is manifestly a portraiture of Louis Philippe, the ex-
King of the French—a portraiture happily conceived
except in one particular. The poet speaks of him
(page 70) as not having " sowed the seeds of fame
in youth," forgetful of the heroic conduct of the
young Due de Chartres at the battle of Jemappes,
where his gallantry elicited the approbation of
Dumouriez. The sketch of Guizot, in the character
of Astutio, is more felicitous, because more scrupu-
lously exact; witness that bitter couplet, where it is
written that Astutio
" Took souls for wares and conscience for a till,
And damned his fame to serve his master's will."
Finding that the Cymrian monarch cannot be cajolled
by specious propositions, Ludovick resolves to act
towards him with consummate perfidy, but' while
the Vandal is plotting with his minister, Arthur,
warned by the dove, escapes. The Earl Harold sud-
denly reaches the court of Ludovick, as an ambassa-
dor from Marcia, proposing that the Vandals shall
combine with the Saxons in a war of devastation and
conquest against the Cymry. Hearing that King
Arthur had just departed from the palace, the Thane,
attended by his retinue of Saxons, pursues him with
bloodhounds. Arthur, on the other hand, having
arrived at the seashore, finds his passage intercepted
by an extraordinary labylinth of caverns, and pene-
trating these inland, he passes an idol shrine, before
which one of the savage Alemani is crouching, in ex
pectation of a human sacrifice—a bloody sacrifice of
propitiation to his sanguinary goddess. The bar-
toarian tracks the footsteps of the unconscious monarch,
and in another direction a famished wolf fellows
Arthur with a stealthy tread among the brambles.
Although the incident is already familiar to many
from the story-books perused in childhood, it will
be here re-perused with more than a passing interest,
for it is invested with an air inimitably poetic. It is,
perhaps, in the infinite art with which the writer
has emblazoned his narrative with this trite anecdote
—emblazoned his narrative, we say, with it, as with
a cluster of precious stones—that his powers of com-
position are the most vividly displayed. The passage
is altogether exquisite,:and gives rise to the , noblest
verses in the volume—verses which absolutely seem
to be inspired by the divine and beneficent Genius of
Christianity. King Arthur hangs up his helmet and
hauberk on the trunk of a beech-tree, and reposes
himself for the night under its branches. While he
is slumbering his dread enemies are approaching—
" And now on either hand the dreaming king,
Death halts to strike ; the crouching wild beast, here,
From the close crag prepares the rushing spring ;
There, from the thicket creeping, near and near,
Steals the wild man, and listen for a sound—
Lifts the pale steel, and ga:her's for the bound.
But what betel ? 0 thou, wh( se gentle heart
Lists, scornful not, this undiurnal rhyme ;
IF, as thy steps to busier life depart,
Still in thine car rings low the haunting chime,
When leisure suits, once more forsake the throng,
Call childhood back, and redemand the song."
So terminates the second book—a terminate of
consummate adroitness, for while the "haunting

chime," reverberates upon the senses, the peril of
the hero acts as an irresistible fascination. Book II f.
resumes the same thrilling delieearion : on the one
side the fierce fangs of the wolf are glittering
through the shadows of the twilight, and on the
other in the stern hand of " Murther gleamed the
blade." [Throughout this passage, be it observed,
the frequent mention of the assassin us the incarna-
tion of the crime, and that too spelt after the ancient
fashion " Murt her" has an indescribable effect.] Sud-
denly a tumult leaps out of the profound silence.
The wild beast and the wild man, bounding together
upon their prey, grapple with each other. Arthur
starts up from his couch and distinguishes " through
the dim and haggard air" the two forms interlaced
and struggling ferociously. He saves his intended
destroyer thus—
" Clasp'd round the wolf, swift arms of iron draw
From their fierce hold the buried fangs ; on high
Up borne, the bailed terrors of its jaw
Gnash vain ;—one yell howls, hollow, thro' the sky;
And dies abruptly, stifled to a gasp,
As the grim heart pants crushing in the grasp."
Thrice the Alemani attempts to consummate his
sacrifice by plunging his dagger into the bosom of his
preserver. Arthur tends upon the wounded wretch
with the gentleness of a woman, and ultimately the
idolator discloses his pitiless project.
" Serv'st thou a goddess,' said the wondering king,
Whose rites ask innocent blcod? 0 brother, learn
In heaven, in earth, in each created thing,
One God, whom all call FATHER, to discern!'
Can thy God suffer thy God's foes to live?'
God once had foes, and said to man, FoieGivEr "
As those sublime words are falling, " dream-like," on
the ear of the savage he swoons to sleep ; and towards
morning the Cymrian monarch proceeds on his
travels. Earl Harold, stepped overnight in his pur-
suit by the advancing tides, resumes his chase at
dawn with his ban-dogs and soldiery. Very soon
afterwards he comes upon the Alemani and questions
him whether he has seen a solitary horseman—
" Track'st thou his steps in love or bate?' Why, so
As hawk its quarry, or as man his foe?'"
" Thou dolt not serve his God," is the only
response of the barbarian. Towards noon
Harold beholds King Arthur upon the summit of' a
mound, seated like a goodly knight upon his barb.
There is no need of either ermine or diadem as his
insignia—
" Nature herself has crown'd that lion mien,
And in the man the king of man is seen."
They meet in single combat—Arthur bearing down
from the acclivity like a thunder cloud, and cleaving
his way through the serried ranks of the Saxons.
The latter wheel round, and the monarch again dares
them to effect his destruction—at bay. In the midst
of these occurrences on the ground, Earl Harold's
falcon has slipped its hood, and is swooping round the
dove of Arthur. At this instant an arrow whistles
through the boughs of an adjacent fore3t, and pierces
the falcon, while a host of barbarians, armed with
clubs, and clothed in skins, rush from their conceal-
ment Then
" On Arthur's crest the dove refolds its wing;
On Arthur's ear a voice comes murmering:
' Man, have 1 served thy God ?' and Arthur saw
The priest beside him, leaning on his bow;
' Not till, in all, thou hast fulfilcd the law—
Thou hast saved the friend—now, aid to shield
the foe;'
And as a ship, cleaving the severed tides,
Right through the sea of spears the hero rides.
" The wihlitroop part submissive as he goes ;
Where, like an islet in that stormy main,
Gleam'd Alercia's steel; and like a rock arose,
Breasting the breakers, the undaunted Thane;
He dont his helmet, look'd majestic round;
And dropp'd the murderous weapon on the ground;
" And with a meek and brotherly embrace
Twined round the Saxon's neck the peaceful arm,
Strife stood arrested—the mild kingly
_face,
The loving gesture, like a holy charm,
Thrill'd dim' the ranks : you might have heard a breath !
So did soft silence weir. to bury death.
" On the fair locks, and on the noble brow,
Fell the full splendour of the heavenly ray;
The dove, dislodged, flew up—and rested now,
Poised in the tranquil and translucent day.
The calm wings seem'd to canopy the head;
And from each plume a parting glory spread."
That is a picture not unworthy of the pen o:
Camoens, or of the pencil of Urbino. Scarcely is the
last hue touched when the scene changes with a
rapidity of itself magically beautiful. The poet
depicts a Happy Valley, situated among the Alpine
regions, and entirely shut out from the world by
impenetrable and insurmountable acclivities of granite.
The inhabitants are described as being the descend-
ants of a colony of certain Etrurians from Fiesole,
who had migrated thither from a dread of the ulterior
growth of the Roman dominion. The valley itself,
its seclusion and its loveliness, are painted with all the
dainty suavity of Boccaccio. Of the ruling family
(the Lartian) only a single daughter (Egle) sur-
vives ; and, a 3 the Etrurian law had forbidden the
females of that clan to wed out of any other, the Augur
is ecmpelled to resort to an ingenious device for the
perpetuation of the line. The device, moreover, is
" sanctioned by two former precedents." Two splen-
did temples are situated at opposite extremities of the
valley, affording the only ingress to and egress from
its retirement. Through the former (a temple
dedicated to Tina, the Etrurian Jove) a
stranger is to be decoyed by the high priest ; he
is to be married to the surviving daughter,
and immediately upon the birth of a prince is to be
made away with in the latter temple, dedicated to
Mantu the god of the shades—the simple-hearted po-
pulation all the while believing this stranger to be a
celestial visitant. On the occasion of Agle attain-
ing the hey-day of her virginity, king Arthur is
lured into the Happy Valley, and the book draws to
a conclusion with his arrival in the presence of his
destined bride. Book IV. begins with a delicious
apostrophe to Love, in which the poet exclaims—
" Hail, Love ! the deattedefyer ! age to age
Linking, with flowers, in the still heart of man !
Dream to the bard, and marvel to the sage,
Glory and mystery since the world began."
Arthur is enabled to converse with eTegle in the
Phoenician language, end his impassioned tones—
" Stir the quick blush—as when the south wind heaves
Into sweet storm the hush of rosy leaves."
In the midst of these lore passages, however, there
is interpolated an episode, descriptive of the adventures
of Lancelot in quest of his sovereign. After encoun-
tering theAlemani priest and receiving from,him tidings
of Arthur, Lancelot passes into Brettannie, and ulti-
tnately discovers the destrier of his lord before the
rock-gate of the Happy Valley. Then the principal
narrative is resumed. King Arthur has almost be-
come reconciled to his tranquil life among the
Etruscans, by the immeasurable beauties of the
spot, and the indescribable graces of .Egle. Absorbed
in this lethargy of delight, he is startled one day by
a message from Merlin, conveyed to him by the
carrier-raven of the magician:—
" Hoarse croaks the bird, and, with its round bright eye,
Fixes the gaze of the recoiling king ;
Slowly the hand that trembles, cuts the tie,
That binds the white scroll gleaming from the wing,
And the se the words,—' Weak loiterer from thy toil,
The Saxon's march is on thy father's soil.'
" Bounded the Prince !—As when the sudden sun
Loosens the ice-chains on the halted rill,
Smiles the dumb snow mass, and the cataracts run
In molten thunder clown the clanging kill,
So ji.um his heart the fetters burst ; and strong
In its rough course, the great soul rush'd along."
The ensuing interview between Egle and her
royal husband is drawn in a spirit of un-
utterable pa!hos, and is unquestionably the
masterpiece of the first portion of this superb and
ambitious poem. Although the Queen of the Etru-
rians reconciles herself to the departure of Arthur
from her reliance on his knightly truth, she faints
in his embraces :
" O'er her hush'd breath his listening ear he bow'd,
And the awed children round him wept aloud."
Then follows this noble and majestic stanza a
fragment sufficient of itself to attest the poetic genius
of the author.
"But when the soul broke faint from its eclipse!
And his own name came, shaping life's first styli,
Llis very heart seem'd breaking in the! ips,
Press'd to those fait! ones;—then, tremblengly,
Ile rose;—he moved;—he paused;— HIS NERVELE,SVIAND,
VEIL'il THE DREAD AGONY OF NAN UNMANN D.
The narrative breaks off when the heroic monarch is
being conducted by the Augur towards the fine of
the funereal Nantu. Such is the character, such are
the incidents, such is the eloquent and propitious
commencement of " Kin Arthur," the new poem by
the author of the "New 'mon" In the mere selec-
tion of his theme, that author has displayed a
consciousness of his own vigorous and inventive
faculties ; he has attempted a loftier flight in a loftier
field of poetry, and in so doing he has revealed new
powers, powers greater than we had anticipated even
from, the many admirable excellences of his "New
limon,' powers which may, if properly directed,
make his name a shining light in our literature, and
link his memory with immortal song. While we are
ready to pronounce these cordial words of commenda-
tion, we cannot but acknowledge that the work is by
no means faultless—were it so, it would be more than
human, it would be a divine inspiration. In some
passages, for example, the diction is execrably in•
volved and tortuous, as where e'Egle is made to re-
mark—
" For something bright and high thyself without,
Thou makest thy heart an offering; so my heart,
Could sacrifice to thee! Then wherefore doubt ,
There are to thy soul what to mine thou urt? '
Before the meaning of this sentence can be accurately
comprehended it becomes necessary to read it again
and again—dissevering the words—unbuilding the
construction—and reducing to sueple prose the very
clumsy involutions of the rhythm. Again : although
it is impossible to deny the right of a poet to change
the tenses from past to present, or from present to
past, abruptly and repeatedly within the compass
of a single paragraph—although, we repeat it, it is