line. The line commenced at the Port St. Nicolo, passed along the frontier of the provinces of Guriel and Juira, traversed Akhiskha, and struck the point where Akhiskha and Cars unite to Georgia. Here there is a positive increase of territory, notwithstanding the promises contained to the contrary, both in the treaty of London and the declaration of war. The question, therefore, resolves itself into this-Will England and France allow Russia to break her most solemn engagements to them, and set at defiance their power to coerce her?

The case was very plainly stated both by Lord Dudley Stuart and Mr. O'Connell, in the House of Commons, but the reply of the Noble Secretary for Foreign Affairs was scarcely becoming the dignity of a British minister. It must be that the noble lord lacks gall to make oppression bitter, or he would have surely spoken in more indignant terms of Russian aggression, and the insult offered to the English flag. He asks for time to investigate the question, and means to negociate with St. Petersburgh: but what investigation or negociation is necessary? Russia has either broken, in the face of Europe, her solemn treaties with England, or seized an English vessel on the coast of an independent state, without deigning to inform us that she had gone to war. In either case, the insult is apparent, and what need can there therefore be, of farther negociation or investigation? The backwardness of England in this proceeding, is placed in bolder relief by the contrast it forms with the extravagant reparation demanded for a recent insult offered to a British subject in another country. There the noble lord had to deal with a comparatively weaker power, and there he feared not to assume an imperious tone; but now that an outrage is committed on British subjects, a hundred-fold more enormous than that inflicted on Mr. Churchill, the Foreign Secretary withdraws from the responsibility, and looks out for a loophole to escape from the scrape.

The obstacles put in the way of British trade, by Russia, at the mouth of the Danube, deserve the attention of Lord Palmerston as well as the seizure of the Vixen. Under the plea of quarantine regulations, forts have been erected and vessels detained, although the one is contrary to the special treaties with Turkey, and the other a direct attack on the flag of friendly powers. Until trade is protected, and the Black Sea rescued from the arbitrary rule of Russia, it is useless to enter into commercial negociations with Turkey, or expect great advantages from an alteration in her tariff.

Note. We find the names of places spelt differently in different maps. The largest, if not the most correct, map of the Caucasus, was drawn by order of the Russian goyernment in the year 1826.

ART. XII.-1. Xeniola-Poems and Translations from Schiller and De la Motte Fouqué. By John Anster, LL.D. Dublin.

1837.

2. Corn Law Rhymes and Poems. By Ebenezer Elliott. 3 vols. Benjamin Steill. London. 1834,35.

DR

R. ANSTER'S reputation as a poet, is well established by his version of the Faust, and although the translations contained in his present little volume are but fragments, yet they are fully equal to his fame, and we hope that he may be mistaken in believing, " that the occupations of active life leave him little chance in future of leisure for such studies,* (Preface.) The principal translation consists of scenes from "A Drama, by De la Motte Fouqué." The scenes are detached, and the story of the drama, (which is an extravagant one,) is chiefly made out by the notes. This method of selecting the choice morsels of a poem is very tantalizing, and one which we should be sorry to see often pursued by an author, in whose hands translations cease to be what they so frequently are-mere gratifications to the curiosity of the idle or unlearned; and become a valuable acquisition to our literature, taking the same rank in our language as in the originals. But in a work of this unpretending description, we must not criticize the author's plan, but shall content ourselves with extracting some of the beautiful passages which Dr. Anster has thus strung together :

FLORUS.

"Forth wandering with thee, rich light of the morning,
That now, in glory, o'er the wood of firs
Dost rise, and brighten into living gold

The vaporous clouds, I tread again this loved

And lonely valley-Sweet, secluded haunt,
Which none intrudes on!-My sick father still

Is slumbering;-fearful dreams stand round his bed,
Disquieting his rest, and torturing me,

Each night the witness of his agonies:

But every creature has its load to bear,

And every creature has its source of comfort.

The bee, who revels here 'mong perfumed flowers,
Voluptuously will soon, fatigued, return,

A burthened labourer, to her fragrant cell.

Since this article was written, we have had the pleasure to hear, that Earl Mulgrave has done himself honour, and given satisfaction to ALL PARTIES, by the promotion of the author to a lucrative and honourable office in one of the Irish law

courts.

Why, Florus, why complain then of thy task?
Thou hast, like them, thy spring of consolation—
Enjoyments, that refresh thy languid spirit
In the blest hours of silent dewy morn.'

p. 121. The old father, a prey to remorse, beholds his youthful and innocent son, and his feelings are expressed with much nature and tenderness :

"Oh! how this beautiful and blooming face,

Reflecting every motion of the spirit,

Reminds me of the days that have gone by !—
I too was gay, and innocent as he:

I too had nothing to conceal. It seems
When I behold him, as if I myself

Came, in the brightness of my better days,

Here to reproach the gray old man with crimes
Done in the melancholy interval."— p. 139.

The father being unable to undertake a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, which he considers necessary for the expiation of the crime of murder, of which he believes himself to be guilty, after some difficulty, prevails on his sons to perform it for him. The two young men set out separately, and accidentally meet a magician in the gardens of Hormisdas. The poet introduces a scene in the garden between the youths and some maidens, attendants on the magician. The passage, without any very striking lines, has a dreamy beauty, well suited to a "valley in Arabia Felix," and to the character of the personages. We transcribe it almost entirely:

A YOUTH.

"O'er the happy plains for ever

Comes the breath of amber fragrance,

A sea of sweets, that soothes the spirit,
Restores the powers, that earth has wasted,-
Diffuses bliss unutterable;

But from what rich flowers delicious,

From what tree, whose tears are perfume,

Flows the aromatic current?

Who can tell its secret fountain?

I can tell it ;—I have found it,—

And I fill my magic phial

With the prize invaluable:

Hormisdas bends, and gazes in the glass

Unseen the gales of fragrance rise

Impatiently, to breathe

Round Zilia's hair, round Zilia's graceful form!

A MAIDEN.

Oh, what a happy lot is mine!

My occupation all is cheerful play,

And after occupation, sweet repose—

Reward of happy toils!

How happy am I here, removed from all,

That once I loved, an ignorant poor child!

-The gloomy wood, and the moss-covered cottage!
The tale my mother told,

-Poor woman, only rich in fairy tales,—

Has been to me most splendidly accomplished:
On her bosom I was sleeping,-

When came at eve a wondrous dream,

That half unclosed my eyes,

And gave me strength to run;

It led me far

away.

Long did my mother sleep,

And wept, when she awoke,
To find her child was gone!
And I beheld her tears!

--But the dream Hormisdas sent
Lured me to this pleasant place,
To one eternal round of joy;
Far away my native cottage
Lies, forgotten, unregretted,
In the gloom of poverty!

And I play with pearls and diamonds,
Happy, happy girl that I am!

A YOUTH.

From the lofty war-proof fortress

Where, cresting the high hill, in splendour
Shine the walls and battlements,

Over a wide range of prospect,

I ran, a happy child, delighted

To wander in the pleasant greenwood ;
To enjoy the huntsman's pleasures,
As I oft had seen my father
Hunting with his boon companions!-
But how sweet, how heart-refreshing,
Were the scenes that in the forest
Soothed my captivated senses!
All that wide and shadowy meadow,
All that roof of meeting branches,
Vocal with mysterious music,

That flowed forth, as from a fountain,
From the breathing lips of HYMNUS,
Who there was standing visibly;
He held me with his giant arm,
He flattered me with words seducing,
From those sweet lips, red as roses;
-I was his-a willing captive!
He bore me from my native meadows,

VOL. II.--NO. IV.

Up into the blue sky starry,

Holy night's serene dominions,
Gliding fast, with unfelt motion,

Down sank I, 'mong flowers and fragrance,

Sank down, and in the garden of Hormisdas !
And willingly do I resign the chace,

And all its pleasures; lingering happy here,
Singing my idle songs 'mong fragrant flowers!

A MAIDEN.

I was playing in the garden,
On our roof in Ascalon!

When a butterfly came humming
O'er the flowers, and I was tempted
To follow the bright flutterer,
And the slender sounds were woven
To a web of gold, that, rustling,
Lifted me with impulse airy!

And they then were changed to winglets
That grew upon my shoulders graceful.
Hither I move to these delightful gardens,
Happy in heart; and think of Ascalon
With scorn-the city that the stranger seeks;
The ornament and glory of the east!

A YOUTH.

I know the land of the evening sun-
Of the giant oak-of the cloud and storm-
Whose lakes are roofed with ice.

Where the morning rises chill,
And the night, from dreary wing,

Showers hoar frost on the shrinking flowers;

And warriors, clad in arms, are there

Loud sounding, splendid, heavy arms of steel;
Swords in their hands, unlike the scimetar;

The blade unbent, and double edged, cuts straight
Into the faces of the enemy;

From the heavy-visored helm

A cloud of many-coloured plumes

Streams in the playful breeze.

And my

friends wished that I should be a soldier.

Already had I learned to bend

The war horse to my will;

Already, with an active arm,
Could sway the warrior's sword;

But, as I rested after my first battle,

There came, with friendly words, a gray old man. He sate beside me. From his lips streamed forth A wondrous tale. Unceasingly it streamed; Holding enchanted my surrendered soul,

Till the sweet stars came gemming the blue sky.