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The wand of eloquence, whose magic sway Now shall thy deathless memory live entwined
The sceptres and ihe swords of earth obey, With all that conquers, rules, or charms the
And every mighty spell, whose strong control

Could nerve or melt, could fire or soothe the soul. Each lofty thought of Poet or of Sage,

And thou, sad city, raise thy drooping head, Each grace of Virgil's lyre or Tully's page.
And share the honours of the glorious dead. Like theirs whose Genius consecrates thy

Had Fate reprieved thee till the frozen North Thy fame shall snatch from time a greener bloom
Poured in wild swarms its hoarded millions forth, Shall spread where'er the Muse has rear'd her
Till blazing cities marked where Albion trod,

Or Europe quaked beneath the scourge of God,* And live renowned in accents yet unknown;
No lasting wreath had graced thy funeral pall, Earth's utmost bounds shall join the glad acclaim,
No fame redeemed the horrors of thy fall. And distant Camus bless Pompeii's name.


[Knight's QUARTERLY MAGAZINE, 1824.]

(HENRY the Fourth, on his accession to the French crown, was opposed by a large part of his subjects, under

the Duke of Mayenne, with the assistance of Spain and Savoy. In March, 1590, he gained a decisive victory over that party at lvry: Before the battle, he addressed his troops, “My children, if you lose sight of your colours, rally to my white plume--you will always find it in the path to honour and glory.". lis conduct was answerable to his promisc. Nothing could resisi his impetuous valour, and the leaguers underwent a lotal and bloody defeat. In the midst of the rout, llenry followed, crying, “Save the French!" and his clemency added a number of the enemies to his own army.

Hikin's Biographical Dictionary.)

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Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are !
And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre !
Now let ihere be the merry sound of music and the dance,
Through thy cornfields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters.
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,
For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war;
Hurrah! hurrah. for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre.

Oh! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day,
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array;
With all its priesi-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears.
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land!
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand;
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood;
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war,
To fight for his own holy name and Henry of Navarre.

The king is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest,
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest:
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;
He looked upon the iraitors, and his glance was stern and high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,
Down all our line, in deafening shout, " God save our lord, the King.'
"And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may-
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray-
Press where ye see my while plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre."

Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din
Offife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies now, upon them with the lance!
A thousand spurs are striking deep is thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest;
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

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• The well-known name of Atilla

Now God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter--the Flemish Count is slain,
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay, gale;
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail;
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van,
“Remember St. Bartholomew," was passed from man to man;
But out spake gentle Henry then, “ No Frenchman is my foe;
Down, down with every foreigner; but let your brethren go."
Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war,
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre !

Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne!
Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return :
Ho! Philip, send for charity, thy Mexican pistoles,
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls
Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright!
Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night!
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slavo,
And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valour of the brave.
Than glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are ;
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre,

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(EDINBURGH Review, JANUARY, 1843.]



TAUGA the world saw and heard little of to be made public. Our hopes, it is trie, werd Madame D'Arblay during the last forty years not unmixed with fears. We could not forget of her life, and though that little did not add to the fate of the Memoirs of Dr. Burney, which her fame, there were thousands, we believe, were published ten years ago. That unfortu. who felt a singular emotion when they learned nate book contained much that was curious that she was no longer among us. The news and interesting. Yet it was received with a of her death carried the minds of men back at cry of disgust, and was speedily consigned to one leap, clear over two generations, to the oblivion. The truth is, that it deserved its time when her first literary triumphs were doom. It was written in Madame D'Arblay's

All those whom we had been accus- later style—the worst style that has ever been tomed to revere as intellectual patriarchs, known among men. No genius, no informaseemed children when compared with her; for tion, could save from proscription a book so Burke had sat up all night to read her writ- written. We, therefore, opened the Diary with ings, and Johnson had pronounced her supe. no small anxiety, trembling lest we should light rior to Fielding when Rogers was still a school- upon some of that particular rhetoric which boy, and Southey still in petticoats. Yet more deforms almost every page of the Memoirs, strange did it seem that we should just have and which it is impossible to read without a lost one whose name had been widely cele- sensation made up of mirth, shame and loathbrated before anybody had heard of some illus- ing. We soon, however, discovered to our trious men who, twenty, thirty, or forty years great delight, that this Diary was kept before ago, were, after a long and splendid career, Madame D'Arblay became eloquent. It is, for borne with honour to the grave. Yet so it the most part, written in her earliest and best

Frances Burney was at the height of manner; in true woman's English, clear, nafame and popularity before Cowper had pub- tural, and lively. The two works are lying lished his first volume, before Porson had gone side by side before us, and we never turn from up to college, before Pitt had taken his seat in the Memoirs to the Diary without a sense of the House of Coinmons, before the voice of relief. The difference is as great as the differErskine had been once heard in Westminsterence between the atmosphere of a perfumer's Hall. Since the appearance of her first work, shop, fetid with lavender water and jasmine sixty-two years had passed; and this interval soap, and the air of a heath on a fine morning had been crowded, not only with political, but in May. Both works ought to be consulted by also with intellectual revolutions. Thousands every person who wishes to be well acquainted of reputations had, during that period, sprung with the history of our literature and our man up, bloomed, withered, and disappeared. New ners. But to read the Diary is a pleasure; to kinds of composition had come into fashion, read the Memoirs will always be a task. had gone out of fashion, had been derided, had We may, perhaps, afford some harmless bee, forgotten. The foolerics of Della Crusca, amusement to our readers if we attempt, with and the fooleries of Kotzebue, had for a time the help of these two books, to give them an bewitched the multitude, who had left no trace account of the most important years of Madame behind them; nor had misdirected genius been D'Arblay's life. able to save from decay the once flourishing She was descended from a family which bore schools of Godwin, of Darwin, and of Rad- the name of Macburney, and which, though cliffe. Many books, written for temporary probably of Irish origin, had been long settled effect, had run through six or seven editions, in Shropshire, and was possessed of consider and had then been gathered to the novels of able esiates in that county. Unhappily, many Afra Behn, and the epic poems of Sir Richard years beri re her birth, the Macburneys began, Blackmore. Yet the early works of Madame as if of set purpose and in a spirit of deter: D'Arbla), in spite of the lapse of years, in mined rivalry, to expose and ruin themselves. spite of Le change of manners, in spite of the The heir-apparent, Mr. James Macburney, popularity deservedly obtained by some of her offended his father by making a runaway rivals, continued to hold a high place in the match with an actress from Goodman's Fields. public esteem. She lived to be a classic. Time The old gentleman could devise no more judiset on her fame, before she went hence, that cious mode of wreaking vengeance on wis seal which is seldom set except on the fame undutiful boy than by marrying the cook. of the departed. Like Sir Condy Rackrent in The cook gave birth to a son named Joseph, the tale, she survived her own wake, and over- who succeeded to all the lands of the family, heard the judgment of posterity.

while James was cut off with a shilling. The Having always felt a warm and sincere, favorite son, however, was so extravagant, hough not a blind admiration for her talents, that he soon became as poor as his disinve rejoiced to learn that her Diary was about herited brother. Both were forced tu earn

their bread by their labour. Joseph turned • Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay. 5 vols. dancing-master, and settled in Norfolk. James

struck of the Mac from the beginning of his

•vo. London. 1842

name, and set up as a portrait-painter at that of fondling them. It would indeed have Chester. Here he had a son named Charles, been impossible for him to superintend their well known as the author of the History of cducation himself. His professional engageMusic, and as the father of two remarkable ments occupied him all day. At seven in the children, of a son distinguished by learning, morning he began to attend his pupils, and and of a daughter still more honourably dis- when London was full, was sometimes em tinguished by genius.

ployed in teaching till eleven at night. Ho Charles early showed a taste for that art, of was often forced to carry in his pocket a tin which, at a later period, he became the his- box of sandwiches, and a bottle of wine and torian. He was apprenticed to a celebrated water, on which he dined in a hackney-coach musician in London, and applied himself to while hurrying from one scholar to another, study with vigour and success. He early Two of his daughters he sent to a seminary at found a kind and munificent patron in Fulk Paris; but he imagined that Frances would Greville, a high-born and high-bred man, who run some risk of being perverted from the seems to have had in large measure all the Protestant faith if she were educated in a accomplishments and all ihe follies, all the Catholic country, and he therefore kept her al virtues and all the vices which, a hundred home. No governess, no teacher of any an years ago, were considered as making up the or of any language was provided for her. B character of a fine gentleman. Under such one of her sisters showed her how to writ protection, the young artist had every prospect and, before she was fourteen, she began to fin of a brilliant career in the capital. But his pleasure in realing. health failed. It became necessary for him to It was not, however, by reading that her in retreat from the smoke and river fog of Lon- tellect was formed. Indeed, when her best don, to the pure air of the coast. He accepted novels were produced, her knowledge of books the place of organist at Lyon, and settled at was very small. When at the height of her that town with a young lady who had recently fame, she was unacquainted with the most become his wife.

celebrated works of Voltaire and Molière, At Lynn, in June, 1752, Frances Burney and, what seems still more extraordinary, had was born. Nothing in her childhood indicated never heard or seen a line of Churchill, who, that she would, while still a young woman, when she was a girl, was the most popular of have secured for herself an honourable and living poets. It is particularly deserving of permanent place among English writers. She observation, that she appears to have been by was shy and silent. Her brothers and sisters no means a novel-reader. Her father's library called her a dunce, and not altogether without was large; and he had admitted into it so some show of reason; for at eight years old many books which rigid moralists generally she did not know her letters.

exclude, that he felt uneasy, as he afterwards In 1760, Mr. Burney quitted Lynn for Lon- owned, when Johnson began to examine the don, and took a house in Poland Street; a shelves. But in the whole collection there was situation which had been fashionable in the only a single novel, Fielding's Amelia. reign of Queen Anne, but which, since that An education, however, which to most girls time, had been deserted by most of its wealthy would have been useless, but which suited and noble inhabitants. He asterwards resided in Fanny's mind better than elaborate culture, St. Martin's Street, on the south side of Leices- was in constant progress during her passage ter Square. His house there is still well known, from childhood to womanhood. and will continue to be well known, as long as book of human nature was turned over before our island retains any trace of civilization; for her. Her father's social position was very it was the dwelling of Newton, and the square peculiar. He belonged in fortune and station lurret which distinguishes it from all the sur- to the middle class. His daughters seem to rounding buildings was Newton's observatory. have been suffered to mix freely with those

Mr. Barney at once obtained as many pupils whom hutlers and waiting-maids call vulgar. of the most respectable description as he had We are told that they were in the habit of time to attend, and was thus enabled to sup- playing with the children of a wig-maker who port his family, modestly indeed, and frugally, lived in the adjoining house. Yet few nobles but in comfort and independence. His pro- could assemble in the most stately mansions fessional merit obtained for him the degree of of Grosvenor Square or St. James's Square, Doctor of Music from the University of Ox- a society so various and so brilliant as was ford; and his works on subjects connected sometimes to be found in Dr. Burney's cabin. with his art gained for him a place, respect- His mind, though not very powerful or capaable, though certainly not eminent, among cious, was restlessly active; and, in the iniermen of letters.

vals of his professional pursuits, he had conThe progress of the mind of Frances Bur- trived to lay up much miscellaneous informaney, from her ninth to her twenty-fisth year, tion. His attainments, the suavity of his temwell deserves to be recorded. When her edn-per, and the gentle simplicity of his mannere, cation had proceeded no further than the horn- had obtained for him ready admission to the book, she lost her mother, and thenceforward first literary circles. While he was still at she educated herself. Her father appears to Lynn, he had won Johnson's heart by sound. have been as bad a fatner as a very honest, ing with honest zeal the praises of the English affectionate, and sweet-tempered man can well Dictionary. In London the two friends met be. He loved his daughter dearly, but it never frequently, and agreed most harmoniously. wee'ns to have occurred to him that a parent One tie, indeed, was wanting !o their mutual by other duties to perform to children than attachment. Burney loved his own art pas

The great

sionately; and Johnson just knew the bell of pocket, and the French Ambassador, M. De Bt. Clement's Church from the organ. They Guignes, renowned for his fine person and for had, however, many topics in common; and on his success in gallantry. But the great show winter nights their conversations were some of the night was the Russian ambassador times prolonged till the fire had gone out, and Count Orloff, whose gigantic figure was all in the candles had burned away to the wicks. a blaze with jewels and in whose demeanour Burney's admiration of the powers which had the untamed ferocity of the Scythian might be produced Rasselas and The Rambler, bordered discerned through a thin varoish of French poon idolatry. He gave a singular proof of this liteness. As he stalked about the small par. at his first visit to Johnson's ill-furnished gar- lour, brushing the ceiling with his toupec, the ret. The master of the apartment was not at girls whispered to each other, with mingled home. The enthusiastic visitor looked about admiration and horror, that he was the favoured for some relique which he might carry away; lover of his august mistress; that he had borne but he could see nothing lighter than the chairs the chief part in the revolution to which she and the fire-irons. At last he discovered an owed her throne; and that his huge hands, now old broom, tore some bristles from the stump, glittering with diamond rings, had given the vrapped them in silver paper, and departed as last squeeze to the windpipe of her unfortunate nappy as Louis IX, when the holy nail of St. husband. Denis was found. Johnson, on the other hand, With such illustrious guests as these were condescended to growl out that Burney was mingled all the most remarkable specimens of an honest fellow, a man whom it was impossi- the race of lions-a kind of game which is ble not to like.

hunted in London every spring with more than Garrick, too. was a freguent visitor in Po- Meltonian ardour and perseverance. Bruce, land Street and St. Martin's Lane. That won- who had washed down steaks cut from living derful actor loved the society of children, partly oxen with water from the fountains of thc Nile, from good-nature, and partly from vanity. The came to swagger and talk about his travels. ecstasies of mirth and terror which his ges- Omai lisped broken English, and made all the tures and play of countenance never failed to assembled musicians hold their ears by howl. produce in a nursery, flattered him quite as ing Otaheitean love-songs, such as those with much as the applause of mature critics. He which Oberea charmed her Opano. often exhibited all his powers of mimicry for With he literary and fashionable society the amusement of the little Burneys, awed them which occasionally met under Dr. Burney's by shuddering and crouching as if he saw a roof, Frances can scarcely be said to have ghost, scared them by raving like a maniac in mingled. She was not a musician, and could 81. Luke's and then at once became an auc- therefore bear no part in the concerts. She tioneer, a chimney-sweeper, or an old woman, was shy almost to awkwardness, and scarcely and made them laugh till the tears ran down ever joined in the conversation. The slightest their cheeks.

remark from a stranger disconcerted her; and But it would be tedious to recount the names even the old friends of her father who tried to of all the men of letters and artists whom Fran- draw her out could seldom extract more than a ces Burney had an opportunity of sceing and Yes'or a No. Her figure was small, her face hearing. Colman, Twining, Harris, Baretti, not distinguished by beauty. She was thereHawkesworth, Reynolds, Barry, were among fore suffered to withdraw quietly to the back. those who occasionally surrounded the tea- ground, and, unobserved herself, to observe all table and supper-tray at her father's modest that passed. Her nearest relations were aware dwelling. This was not all. The distinction that she had good sense, but seemed not to which Dr. Burney had acquired as a musician, have suspected, that under her demure and and as the historian of music, attracted to his bashfui deportment were concealed a fertile house the most eminent musical performers of invention and a keen sense of the ridiculous. that age. The greatest Italian singers who She had not, it is true, an eye for the fine shades visited England regarded him as the dispenser of character. But every marked peculiarity of fame in their art, and exerted themselves to instantly caught her notice and remained enobtain his suffrage. Pachieroti became his in- graven on her imagination. Thus, while still timate friend. The rapacious Agujari, who a girl, she had laid up such a store of materials sang for nobody else under fifty pounds an air, for fiction as few of those who mix much in sang her best for Dr. Burney without a fee; the world are able to accumulate during a long and in the company of Dr. Burney even the life. She had watched and listened lo people haughty and eccentric Gabrielli constrained of every class, from princes and great cfficers herself to behave with civility. It was thus of state down artists livang in garrets, and his power to give, with scarcely any expense, poets familiar with subterranean cook-shops. concerts equal to those of the aristocracy. On Hundreds of remarkable persons had passed such occasions the quiet street in which he in review before her, English, French, Gerlived was blocked up by coroneted chariots, man, Italian, lords and fiddlers, deans of catheand his little drawing-room was crowded with drals, and managers of theatres, travellers leadpeers, peeresses, ministers, and ambassadors. ing about newly caught savages, and singing On one evening, of which we happen to have women escorted by deputy-husbands. a full account, there were present Lord Mul- So strong was the impression made on the grave, Lord Bruce, Lord and Lady Edgecumbe, mind of Frances by the society which she was Lord Barrington from the War-Office, Lord in the habit of seeing and hearing, that she beSandwich from the Adiniralty, Lord Ashburn- gan to write little fictitious narratives as soon bam, with his gold key dangling from his as she could uso her pen with ease, which, as

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