The Sun. — 1842-07-01 (London, England)

MAGAZINE.  Tait has some fearless and forcible remarks this month on the subject of the " National Distress," which, he says, has this character to distinguish it from former periods of suffering—that its advances have been insidious and gradual, but steady ; adding, that the remedial measures just carried by Sir Robert Peel, while they inflict considerable sufferings on individuals of the middle class, can at best prove but a temporary.alleviation. " Indeed," pursues Tait, " altogether the effect of his measures is doubtful. The best that can be affirmed is, that the changes in the Tariff„if, they should do little good, can do no great harm. No man, not even the author of these changes, dares flatter himself that such petty alterations are speedily to repair the wide-spread calamities of even the last season ; when distress has grown to so fearful a height, that even the wise and the courageous shrink from looking it in the face ; and well-meaning, humane persons, of limited understanding, are left to propose foolish or desperate temporary expedients. The causes of national decay, to be followed, it is but too probable, by social, and not improbably, by violent disorganization, have been much longer. at work than appears to be generally suspected." Discouraging as these remarks are, we fear there is but too much truth in them. The writer concludes with an observation or two on the Corn-laws, which he insists ought to be abolished, were it only as a peaceoffering to the famishing millions who attribute to them their misery. The " Song of July" is not so grateful or spirited a chant as the " Songs for the Months" have hitherto been. The versification is clumsy, and the thoughts not above common-place. " Abednego, the Money-lender," exhibits no falling.off in interest, the dialogues are uniformly clever and natural. The reviews of some recently-published works of fiction are written with that tact and judgment for which the critical notices of this periodical have long been remarkable. We quote some graphic stanzas, entitled the " ICyber Pass My song a mournful muse invokes : Pale, bleeding o'er the vale she stands, Wildly waving forth her hands. Where Kyber, from his snow-clad rocks, Poured down his fierce, insatiate bands, To bathe their keen, deceitful brands In blood that looks tl heaven, and smokes For Vengeance on their cursed lands. The troop has reached the fatal vale— Slowly the lengthening lines ascend ; The crags in horrid tumult bend : Each eye is fixed—each cheek is pale ; For, rising like a fitful gale, A thousand echoing voices blend— The heralds of a dreadful tale! Gleaming-athwart the firmament, Like fiends by frenzied Murder sent, Wild figures blot the sky ; While cne dire havoc, deeply pent, Tee thousand bosems' element Bursts like a flood on high ; And they who dare, and they who fly, In one wide waste of death are iblent,— Unburied there to lie. The horseman rears his battle blade ; Secure the vengeful foemen crowd: High. hanging on a thunder-cloud, He falls—nor asks kir aid. The startled steed defiance neighs,— Son of the desert ! think not now Thy freely-tossing mane will flow, As in the pride of other days, O'er half a nation low ; When sandy plain and sunny slope Beheld thee rise, the Arab's hope, Where Carmel's rocky mountain smiled Upon thy birth, proud desert child ? High towers his head—quick heaves his breath— . The sun, like lightning, gilds his mane— It ne'er will see it float again— Ile sinks—the majesty of death ! Swift from the musket's deadly throat Tire winged wanderer flies : The mountain chieftain's wild war-note Throbs on his tongue, and dies. With streaming robe, and grasping hands, A thousand feet beneath his bands The bleeding wretch is driven ; While coloured shawl, and caftan rent, Wave far along the dread descent, Prone from the verge of heaven. In vain, alas ! devoted brave, Firm as the rock that marks your grave, In crowded rank ye stand ; One effort more—one thought of home— A prayer to heaven—then bid your hand, With dying grasp, and dripping brand, Carve o'er your bloody tomb— ' " The glory of an injurecl,iand In Vengeance yet will come !'