before him of the great names of British history at succesive epochs,Coeur-de-Lion and the Trouvères, and all the chivalry of south and north; the first Tudor king and his ¡destroying son; Elizabeth and her greater bards; but to these we must give a stanza or two:

With her (at either hand) two starry forms
Glide-than herself more royal-and the glow
Of their own lustre, each pale phantom warms
Into the lovely life the angels know;

And as they pass, each Fairy leaves its cell,
And GLORIANA calls on ARIEL !

Yet she, unconscious as the crescent queen

Of orbs, whose brightness makes her image bright,
Haught and imperious, thro' the borrow'd sheen,
Claims to herself the sov'reignty of light;

And is herself so stately to survey,

That orbs which lend, seem but to steal the ray.

After the maiden queen and her mesnie, come those who fought for freedom in the civil wars, with the bard who

fallen on evil tongues in evil days,

has gained an immortality as bright as that of which he sang; and to close the scene

Mild, like all strength, sits crowned Liberty,
Wearing the aspect of a youthful queen:
And far outstretch'd along the unmeasured sea
Rests the vast shadow of her throne; serene

From the dumb icebergs to the fiery zone,
Rests the vast shadow of that guardian throne.

And round her group the Cymrian's changeless race
Blent with the Saxon, brother-like; and both

Saxon and Cymrian from that Sovereign trace

Their hero line; sweet flower of age-long growth;
The single blossom on the two-fold stem;

Arthur's white plume crests Cerdic's diadem.

The vision fades away, and Arthur is again tested; he is called upon to sacrifice the Dove, to ensure the freedom of his country. He thus replies :

For Fame and Cymri, what is mine I give

Life-and brave death prefer to ease and power;

But not for Fame or Cymri would I live

Soil'd by the stain of one dishonoured hour;
And man's great cause was ne'er triumphant made,
By man's worst meanness-Trust for gain betray'd.

The achievement of the adventure is now no longer withheld.

In the eighth book Lancelot reappears with Genevra, the daughter of Harold, Earl of Mercia, who tells her own story, and that of her lost friend and playmate, Genevieve, the daughter of King Crida. The poet has substituted this fair and pure impersonation for the scandalised Guenever, of the old fabliaux; and Lancelot's love is rendered a hallowed and legitimate passion. Together they seek and find the king, before he sets out to the frozen north, in search of the silver shield of Thor. The rest of the book is devoted to a humorous account of Gawaine's tribula

tions at the shrine of Freya, to which he was bound, in order to be roasted, and his escape from that peril, assisted by his faithful hound.

The ninth book witnesses Arthur's course through the Polar Seas, heralded by an invocation to the north, and a description of the three great agents of civilisation

Winter, and Labour, and Necessity,

Behold the Three that make us what we are!
The eternal pilots of a shoreless sea,

The ever-conquering armies of the Far!
By these we scheme, invent, ascend, aspire,
And, pardon'd Titans, steal from Jove the fire!

The poet's description of the wonders and sublimities of the Arctic Ocean is most magnificent; but here, where we most willingly would have quoted, we are compelled by want of space to refrain. We are able only to glance at the rest of the story. The following passage, however, we must give :

He comes, the Conqueror in the Halls of Time,
Known by his silver herald in the Dove,

By his imperial tread and front sublime

With power as tranquil as the lids of Jove,

All shapes of death the realms around afford:

From Fiends God guard him!-from all else his sword!

The picture of the Valkyrs weaving their noiseless skein, grand though it be, we are forced to omit. After a fearful struggle, vigorously pourtrayed, the king wins the second gift, he returns to England and the dove leaves him. The last boon, the guardian-child, the representative of Conscience, is finally accorded, and, the marvellous ended, the heroic warrior effects the liberation of his country by mortal means;-in Genevieve, saved from sacrifice, he find consolation for loss of Egle, and by his marriage with the daughter of Crida unites the Cymrian and the Saxon races.

Independently of the main current of the epic as affecting Arthur, there are episodical scenes--the self sacrifice of Caradoc, for instance, on which we have been unable, in this imperfect notice to touch.

A

We trust, however, that we have done enough to impress our readers with the conviction that in "King Arthur," the country has a poem worthy to take its place only beneath the loftiest reach of modern poesy. That some defects are to be found in its composition who can doubt? perfect poem never yet has been, nor ever will be written. Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton's chiefest faults, in our estimation, are a too frequent use of inverted phrases, a profusion of imagery, a display of classical lore which sometimes impedes the merit of his verse, and, occasionally, an arbitrary employment of words less English than German. But these blemishes how slight beside the numberless beauties of the poem!

The author declares that he takes his stand on the subject that has haunted his ambition from his earliest youth. He may safely do so.. King Arthur will live.

SIR WIGOLAIS OF THE WHEEL.*

BY JOHN OXENFORD, ESQ.

CHAPTER I.

HOW SIR WIGOLAIS SET OUT FOR COROTIN, ACCOMPANIED BY A SULKY

DAMSEL.

NOTHING Could be more dismal than the commencement of Sir Wigolais' journey to Corotin. By his side rode a damsel on a palfrey, richly attired, and behind her stood a dwarf, who kept his position on the horse by resting his hand somewhat heavily on her fair shoulder. The young lady was deep in the sulks, and all attempts of the knight to draw her into conversation proved miserably abortive. His modest endeavours to do the agreeable were met by a chilly silence, or by still more chilly monosyllables, though certainly no one could be more modest and unpretending than the youthful Sir Wigolais. The dwarf was manifestly annoyed at the very cool manner in which the poor young man was treated, and whenever the horses were at a convenient distance from each other, he did not fail to whisper a good strong lecture into the damsel's ear. However, people do not like lectures from their inferiors, and the only effect of the dwarf's wholesome admonitions was to make the lady pout and frown more than ever. Sir Wigolais feigned not to see her illhumour, but it was so very obvious, that he could not persuade himself into cheerfulness, and his spirits sank at last under the ungenial influence.

To explain the cause of the damsel's ill-humour, we must inform our readers, that she had been to the court of King Arthur, at Carlisle, re-. questing that some gallant knight of the Round Table might be allowed to go to Corotin, and deliver that place from great misery and inconvenience. She had anticipated that the great Sir Gawain would have been chosen, but as it turned out, a young man, named Wigolais, who had come nobody knew whence, and who had that very day been admitted as a member of the Round Table, supplicated King Arthur so hard for leave to undertake the adventure, that the good monarch could not find it in his heart to refuse him. Now Sir Wigolais was not only very young, but extremely young-looking; he had one of those baby-faces that obstinately refuse to look manly at any age, and a chin that seemed destined never to wear a beard. When the Corotinian damsel saw the champion who was to redress her country's wrongs, she looked upon the case as very desperate indeed; and her face, which had not naturally a very pleasing expression, lengthened and soured to that degree, that the good King Arthur winced while he gazed upon it. In vain was it represented to the fair messenger, that Sir Wigolais had proved himself a most worthy knight in a recent tournament, that on that very account he had been admitted to the Round Table, and that he enjoyed the special patronage of Sir Gawain; the damsel looked at the baby-face and mistrusted the

* Founded on a German Volksbuch. March.-VOL. LXXXV. NO. cccxxxix.

statement. In vain was she told that the moral character of Sir Wigolais had been incontestably proved by the fact of his sitting on an enchanted stone, kept at Carlisle as a sort of touchstone of virtue, whereas many knights, who were considered highly respectable, were unable to approach it within a good arm's-length. She shook her head dubiously, as if she thought manly vigour much more important than moral character, although she did not venture to utter so free a sentiment.

Under these circumstances the expedition to Corotin commenced, as we have said, most dismally. The damsel despising Sir Wigolais, and at the same time being forced to accept him as a companion, perfectly de-tested his society, and would not be consoled by the opinion of the dwarf, who looked upon him as a promising young man. Finding that his conversational powers were of no avail, Sir Wigolais did a smart thing or two on the road, in the hope of gaining some degree of favour. A strong castle by the road-side gave him the first opportunity of coming out. This was kept by a sturdy old gentleman, who made a point of fighting everybody that asked for shelter. If he vanquished the traveller, he inhospitably dismissed him with a kick, but if the traveller was victorious, he was admitted into the castle, and feasted royally. Sir Wigolais complied so well with the conditions of the establishment, that he not only came off victor, but left the old gentleman a corpse before his own gate. Even this pleasant feat did not elicit a smile from the sulky young lady, though the dwarf clapped his hands from pure enjoyment.

A couple of hulking giants, who were treating a country-girl with great discourtesy, gave Sir Wigolais the next opportunity for displaying his prowess, for he killed one, and sent the other off to Carlisle, together with the maiden, on his making a solemn promise that he would put her under the protection of King Arthur, and tell that monarch who had sent him. A little white dog, with one ear red and the other yellow, that ran across a field, was a third cause of adventure, for the sulky damsel took a fancy to the animal, and Sir Wigolais at once dismounted, picked it up, and placed it before her. She received the gift with a thankless expression of countenance, and rode somewhat in advance, till she met a knight, who recognised the dog, and asked her in a severe tone how she had got it, at the same time proclaiming that he was the rightful owner. This led to a squabble between the stranger and Sir Wigolais, which resulted in the death of the former. The dwarf was beside himself with admiration, and shouted his applause into the ears of the sulky damsel, but she simply shrugged her shoulders, and rode on with the same predilection for monosyllables as before.

As for Wigolais, who was the most kind-hearted creature, he felt somewhat displeased at his own unequivocal successes. Every one of his exploits had ended in a death, however trifling had been the cause of dispute, and he could not help feeling a sting of conscience.

CHAPTER II.

HOW THE SULKY DAMSEL LOST HER SULKINESS.

PRESENTLY they saw at a little distance from the road a damsel on horseback, who rent the air with her wailings.

"Let me go and inquire the cause of grief so great, in form so fair ?" said Sir Wigolais, to his companion, carefully rounding his period.

"You may go to the," began the sullen damsel, hastily; but suddenly checking herself, she said, "Go or stay, just as you please; I shall pursue my own path." A reply which the dwarf heard with infinite disgust.

At last Sir Wigolais obtained a more regular permission to address the weeping maiden, and riding up to her he accosted her, asking her the cause of such excessive lamentation.

"In me," said she of the streaming eyes, "you behold the most humiliated person in the universe."

Sir Wigolais bowed for further information.

"Know, oh courteous stranger," she continued, "that the king of a country, called Ireland, of which, perchance, you may have heard, sends every year to these parts a talking parrot and a magnificent palfrey, as a gift to the lady whom adequate judges shall decide to be the finest. Now, when the last horse and parrot came, it was generally supposed"here the maiden dropped her eyes-"it was generally supposed, I say, they would have been awarded to me."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Sir Wigolais, with more surprise than was consistent with politeness; but he saw his error at once, and added-—“ Of course-of course.'

"On the day preceding that on which the adjudication was to have been made, a strange knight with red hair came among us, with his mistress, and without asking any questions about the matter, put her in possession of the valuable horse and parrot, together with the gold cage in which the latter was confined, and which I forgot to mention."

"Proceed," said Sir Wigolais.

"Proceed!" exclaimed the maiden. "Have I not already told you the greatest wrong that ever lady endured on this earth ?”

A somewhat awkward pause ensued, but Sir Wigolais at last said, with a great show of enthusiasm,

"Oh yes, certainly it was a most foul wrong, and the red-haired knight who perpetrated it must have been a▬▬▬▬▬▬.'

Here his own affair with the white dog unpleasantly crossed his mind, and an uneasy notion that there was a similarity in the two cases, stopped the shower of hard words he was about to bestow on the red-haired knight, and produced another awkward pause.

"With the permission of yonder fair one with the serious countenance, I will gladly restore the horses and the parrot," suddenly shouted Sir Wigolais; and the boldness with which he extricated himself from the conversational difficulty did him infinite credit.

Permission being obtained from the sulky damsel, who gave it with the readiness of indifference rather than of kindness, the whole party proceeded to a plain, where tents were set up, belonging to every nation in the world. Here was the Emperor of Greece-there was the King of Mauritania-here floated the banners of the Marquis of the Illyrian Frontier-there stood the temporary residence of the Exarch of Ravenna. Austrian dukes and Ethiopian counts were there by dozens. The Soldan of Egypt, and the King of Babylon, vied with each other in magnificence. There they all were, met together with that noble disregard of geography and chronology which thrives so well in a purely chivalric atmosphere. The feasting, the love-making, the harp-playing, the singing, the piping, that were going on in all these tents, gave so much life and cheerfulness