1831.] 



Domestic and Foreign. 



5(59 



plaint. When Ulysses presents Chry- 

 seis to her father, Mr. Sotheby says: 

 " Forth came Chryseis, whom to Chryses's arms 

 The chief restored in all her virgin charms," 

 Mr. Sotheby's purpose is obvious ; but 

 there is nothing in Homer to warrant 

 the assertion ; and, besides, Agamem- 

 non's own words to her father imply the 

 contrary. . 



Minerva, in checking Achilles's dis- 

 position to violence, gives him permis- 

 sion to upbraid Agamemnon as much as 

 he likes. But what has Mr. Sotheby 

 made of it ? 

 Sheathe thy brave blade ; but sharper than thy 



sword, 

 Fix in his heart the weapon of thy word." 



A piece of perversion quite unpardon- 

 able a dandyism of taste and senti- 

 ment, from which Homer is wholly and 

 always free. 



Once more. In the description of the 

 sacrifice, the. thighs of the Oxen are 

 burnt, and the viscera tasted, before the 

 animals are wholly cut up, and the parts 

 to be eaten are roasted. This tasting of 

 the viscera was obviously a part of the 

 ceremonial, and not of the feast by 

 which they shewed^ says the scholiast, 

 by a visible act, EX. 4 u X a f ""Xsiv mvS'wnav. 

 Mr. Sotheby, wholly mistaking the mat-, 

 ter, and consulting nothing but his ima- 

 gination, says 

 " And when the thighs were burnt, and keen 



desirn 

 Had try'd the entrails fuming from the fire." 



As if they were so hungry they could 

 not wait another moment. But we have 

 no more space. Mr. Sotheby's version 

 will not supersede Pope, nor does it de- 

 serve to do so though the versification 

 seems to be more equally sustained. 



The Siamese Twins; a Tale of the 

 Times, by the Author ofPelham. Shrewd, 

 and clever, and cultivated- -familiar, too, 

 with the spirit of the day, and the pre- 

 tensions of all pretenders, the author of 

 Pelham could scarcely, when indulging 

 his bent to the satirical, fail to produce 

 a performance sometimes amusing, in 

 whatever direction he pointed his shafts. 

 The tale of the Siamese is merely whim- 

 sical, and scarcely worth noticing it 

 represents the two Siamese, of whom all 

 the world has heard, to be endowed with 

 dispositions and feelings in perfect con- 

 trast with each other. Of course the 

 cross-purposes and awkward results thus 

 producible may readily be imagined ; but 

 by thrusting them upon adventures in 

 London life, the author gains an oppor- 

 tunity of pointing his satire against per- 

 sons and follies of fashionable notoriety. 

 This enables him to throw off much of 

 Ida spleen, and he does it with a good 

 will and strength of purpose, that shew 



M.M. New Series. VOL. XI. No. 65. 



him more in earnest than he would will- 

 ingly have it believed he feels. The 

 periodicals have occasionally handled him 

 roughly ; but generally his talents have 

 been so promptly and largely acknow- 

 ledged, that it was scarcely worth his 

 while to notice, and least of all to ascribe, 

 the severity to personal or interested 

 motives. He gives importance to what, 

 in itself, has none, and would not be re- 

 membered, but for the annoyance he 

 betrays, and the pains he takes to keep 

 it all .alive. There is poetry in the vo- 

 lume, of a cast to deserve the name, 

 enough- to set up half a dozen scribblers, 

 but it is fairly buried under masses of 

 matter of inferior quality, and of tran- 

 sient interest. 



How holy woman's youth while yet 

 Its rose with life's first dews is wet- 

 While hope most pure is least confest, 

 And all the Virgin in the breast I 

 O'er her white brow, wherein the blue 



Transparent vein seemed proud to bear 

 The warm thoughts of her heart unto 



The soul so nobly palaced there ! 

 O'er her white brow were richly braided 



The tresses in a golden flow ; 

 But darkly slept the lash that shaded 



Her deep eye, on its.lids of snow. 

 What could that magic eye inspire? 

 Its very light was a desire ; 

 And each blue wandering of its beam, 

 Called forth a worship and a dream ; 

 The soft rose on'her softest cheek 



Had yet the sun's last smile to win ; 

 But not the less each blush could speak 



How full the sweetness hived within. 

 The rich lip in its bright repose 

 Refused above its wealth to close, 

 And mid the coral and the dew, 

 The pearls all freshly glistened thro', 

 And round that lip, in dimpled cell, 

 The smiles that wreathe enchantment dwel! 

 Waked by a word and yet revealing 

 A witness less of Mirth than Feeling 

 Rounded her glorious shape ; tho" mute 

 Died Echo round her fairy foot, 

 Tho' small as childhood's was the band 



That lightly clasp'd her graceful vest, 

 And tho' so slight her tempting hand, 



You, hid it while you prest, 

 Yet formed the hills her robe control'd 

 In Love's most ripe luxuriant mould. 

 Not in more swelling whiteness sails 

 Cayster's swan to western gales, 

 When the melodious murmur sings 

 'Mid her slow-heav'd voluptuous wings. 

 And never on a breast more formed 



For lofty dreams yet low devotion 

 More tender, or more truly warmed 



With all which lights yet guides emotion ; 

 More fitted i the evil day 

 To be man's solace and his stay ; 

 Never on breast more rich in aught 

 That comforts grief but heightens thought- 

 Did lover rest, and feel the earth, 

 Had faded round him into dearth 

 That Fate was baffled ; and that Change 

 Had lost the wish the power to range ; 



4 D 



