Until he sticks in Christian's hopeless slough, 'Midst slimy creatures, 66 venomous and low." LXIV. But here I hold, no reasonable question Is Garbolino-that we seldom meet That the whale's mouth is typical—no more— And means the Sound our Captain fail'd to explore, LXV. When he, of late, mistaking his commission That Baffin's Bay is a mere cul-de-sac, LXVI. "Tis clearly allegorical. Again, Those tusks, that seem'd all eager to devour, Are Croker's Mountains, which indeed is plain From the engravings to the Captain's tour; So, when 'tis said, the sun did there attain Sufficient force to ripen grapes, though sour, And furnish wine, it proves there's nothing new In the conjectures of a late Review. LXVII. Then for the chapel and the convent bell, Which in the bowels of that fish were found, And holy friars who there were seen to dwell Like Whitfield with the miners under ground, They clearly point at what old histories tell Of Danish colonies reputed drown'd; LXVIII. The only point on which (with hesitation) Is one whereof I've later information. 'Tis true the warriors did not tarry long Amongst that “ very interesting nation ;”* But then, whereas (according to the song,) They sail'd out by the port which first received Their wandering bark, that's not to be believed. LXIX. Accordingly my protest here I enter, And say, they held a course right opposite, And, having fairly lodged them in the centre Of the whale's belly for a day and night, Issued at length from forth that spacious venter By a back door (the name I need not write ;) And found themselves, if rightly I divine, Just at the mouth of River Copper-mine. * See Capt. Ross' account of the Arctic Highlanders. LXX. The sky was clear o'erhead; and from the pole (The neighbouring pole) emerging seem'd to rise A little dusky cloud, and onward roll, Increasing as it pass'd, in form and size; And then a soft melodious cadence stole Upon their ears; and to their wandering eyes Appear'd-but what appear'd, I will not say Till the commencement of another lay. * FROM THE MAMBRIANO, C. III. 45, 6, 7. Of all that mighty host which late he led, “O vain unstable glory of our Earth, Founded on glass, and doom'd as long to endure! Full fair thou seemest, yet art nothing worth. O dungeon, woful, ugly, and obscure! O nest, wherein all evil things have birth— Beset with dangers more, the more, held sure! And I whose boasted empire erst embraced All Asia's shores-now banish'd and disgraced! "A hundred million slaves but yester eve Obey'd my nod and crouch'd beneath my throne: Now, like some base poltroon, I take my leave, Accompanied by hooting scorn alone. I go to where the desart waters heave Around a miserable coast unknown, Where, barr'd from every sense of earthly good, Not Hope herself will cheer my solitude." FROM PETRARCH. CANZONE V. "Nella stagion che'l sol rapido inchina." IN that still season, when the rapid sun Drives down the west, and day-light flies to greet Nations, that haply wait his kindling flame; In some strange land, alone, her weary feet The time-worn pilgrim finds, with toil fordone, Yet but the more speeds on her languid frame; Her solitude the same, When night has closed around; Yet has the wanderer found A deep though short forgetfulness at last Of every woe, and every labour past. But ah! my grief, that with each moment grows, As fast, and yet more fast, Day urges on, is heaviest at its close. When Phoebus rolls his everlasting wheels To give night room; and from encircling wood, Broader and broader yet descends the shade; The labourer arms him for his evening trade, And all the weight his burthen'd heart conceals Lightens with glad discourse or descant rude; Then spreads his board with food, Such as the forest hoar To our first fathers bore, By us disdain'd, yet praised in hall and bower. When Phoebus leaves, and stars salute the earth. Yon shepherd, when the mighty star of day And the wide Orient all with shade embrown'd, Takes his old crook, and from the fountain head, |