Slow answer gave the bidden corse,
With tuneless accents cold,

As wanderers in their sleep discourse,

Unconscious, passionless, unsouled :—
"Around my birth were Fear and Strife,
Around my bier were Wrath and blood,—
The ancient feud of life with life,

And Evil stifling Good.

"Rich harvests to thy follower, Death,

On earth my sickle threw :

The cold plague from my poisoned breath

Rained on her shivering crowds, and slew. Man shall not soon my name forget

Amidst the rush of coming years; The traces of my feet are wet

With streams of bitter tears!

"I saw where, unavenged of Heaven, A race of heroes fell,

By Satrap slaves, the iron driven

Through godlike hearts :-the Scythian's yell Rang through the land ;-his trampling hoofs With virgins' gore were dabbled red; O'er wasted fields and blazing roofs, Night howled as Freedom bled! "Afar, her Island-throne beneath, She raised her fettered hands;

I passed and with my sudden breath

The chain was burst, like flaxen bands Fire-scorched :-the growth of rooted wrongs Fell, withered by my bright career ;The triumph of ten million tongues Pealed in my dying ear!

"I quenched, within a sickly frame, Paired with a sluggish mind,

The mockery of a giant's name,

Who shook the world he could not bind.

And errant monarchs made me sport,

Some grasping at a bandit's sway,

Some wandering with an outlawed court,
Some banished, some at bay.

"From mind's high temples, on my breast,
The stately and the strong

Have laid their radiant heads to rest :-
The lords of heaven-descended song,
That brightened nations at my birth,
And hailed me with a loving vow,
I folded in the grave; and earth
Wails o'er their ashes now!
"Of all the change of wo and weal
I taught the sons of care,-
The million pangs I bade them feel,
The flitting joys, the keen despair;
The wreck of many a loving heart,
The shade or sun of many a lot,
The bliss, the grief consumed apart,-
Of such thou askest not!

"My course is run: Be thine to write
Above my place of rest,

The words of judgment, dark or bright,
Inscribed o'er every silent guest
In this thy realm. To join my sires,
Thy weary slave, O Time! release,—
My foot is worn, my cold lip tires,
Í fain would be at peace!"

THE DESTRUCTIVES.

TIME was when Whigs called themselves Whigs, and Tories called them. selves Tories, and both condensed all objurgation in the term RADICAL. The word Radical covered all conceivable sins; expressed all possible contempt and abomination; implied imputation of vulgarity, ignorant prejudice, and low associations. Now it has come to pass that the Whigs call themselves Reformers, and the Tories call themselves Conservatives, and both call the Radicals Destructives. The change is full of significance. The Whigs found their name a little spotted, and thought it as well to take another, without actually flinging away their old one; but the Tories had made their name so foul and filthy-so offensive to the senses of so pestilent an odour, that they were per force compelled to cast it from them and abjure it. There it lies in the highway, and no one will pick it up and make it his own, or acknowledge to have worn it. Let the town-crier, taking it with a pair of tongs, hold it up and call upon him to whom it belonged to come forward and claim it; and men will put their handkerchiefs to their noses, and spit, and turn away their heads, and protest they never wore such a thing in their lives, or could conceive any human being of habits so foul, as to have brought it to its loathsome pickle. One says, "I think I have seen you in some thing very much like it; that button with the crown on it, and the motto, Church and State,' I have surely seen on a blue coat with red facing, of which you used to be not a little proud when it was styled the Pitt uniform?" "Indeed you are mistaken," replies the questioned party; "I was never a Tory, I was always for seasonable and reasonable reformations, consistent with the genius of our constitution. I could never go the lengths of Castlereagh and Eldon, or Wellington; in short, sir, I would have you to know that I am a Conservative-a Conservative, which you will find in the Dictionary to mean one opposed to injury.” "But did you not," asks the interrogater, " approve the Manchester massacre, so injurious to human bodies; and the system of profuse expenditure, so injurious to property; and can you find apter clothing for such political judgments than that in the tongs?" "Oh, the circum.. stances were peculiar!" rejoins our Conservative. "The Radicals—some few ragged folks of no sort of consequence-mechanics, and that sort of people-unwashed artisans-were destroyed, to prevent them from destroying Heaven knows what. And as for the expenditure, it could not be retrenched without injury to vested interests, expectations, reversionary claims, the dignity of the crown, and all those important and paramount considerations. No, no; you must find some one else to fit that fool's livery; it never was mine. I was no Tory; but always open to reason, and a good Conservative."

In a year's time this name ("new-fangled," as the Tories should call it from their own vocabulary) will be as foul, and in as vile odour as the other.

Meanwhile, how has the Radical worn his name? The Whig looks at his spotted name; the Tory at his disgraced and discarded one; and they turn to the Radical and find that he has made respectable the appellation which they cast upon him as a stigma! He is not ashamed to avow himself RADICAL, and no reproach is conveyed in the description of him as such. In this case, the enemy must give him a new bad name, for our enemy has no other weapon than vituperation; and the Radical is called

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DESTRUCTIVE. The Radical is not uneasy under this description. He turns foul to fair, as his adversaries turn fair to foul. He accepts the name in good part, and declares himself destructive of all ill things.

"On m'assassine!" cried the thief under the whip of the executioner. "They destroy," cries the Conservative, when abuse is theatened with extinction. The French army before Antwerp were Destructives, and the barbarian Chassé made loud complaints of the destruction of the works he had turned against the laws of humanity and civilized warfare. The French shelled the citadel with true Radical effect; and, after all the bluster, when it came to the point of peril, the roar of Our Chassés would Chassé's complaints of rough usage, was heard, instead of the roar of Here was Conservation illustrated. his artillery. hold out the citadel of abuses against the besieging force, and console themselves by calling destructive, the righteous powers they vainly endeavour to resist.

Never did political animosity run so high, as that of the Whigs and Tories to the Radicals. The hatred is all on one side; for the Radical knows that Whigs and Tories are under the necessity of serving to his objects; and this knowledge softens the enmity he might otherwise feel. On the other hand, it is exasperating to the two parties to see that they cannot battle with each other without malgré lending themselves to the purposes of the Radicals; nor can they unite without infamizing themselves to such a pitch, as to set the whole country against them. The quarrel between the Whigs and Tories, was that of rivals of a trade; but their quarrel with the Radicals is a quarrel with enemies of the trade. The Whigs proposed to open a cheaper Government Shop than the Tories; but the Radicals are for abolishing the whole traffic in patronage, and breaking up all the engines of extortion and misrule. The Whig sentiment is, that no man's jobs are safe with the Radicals; and every Whig loves his own jobs, though he hates the Tory's jobs with the hatred of envy, which possession converts to love. Seconded by the Radicals, the Whigs thrust the Tory power out of Parliament, by the Reform act ; in which measure they have found this remarkable convenience, that its sound parts are good against the Tories, and its rotten parts serve against the Radicals. Can we wonder then, if they have no wish for further organic We have a contented Ministry-men as happy as the All their wishes improvement? "Here let us rest from our lamouse who made his hermitage in a Cheshire cheese. are bounded by their offices; and they cry, bour; here for ever be our repose." But like the mouse in the cheese, they will find they "must stir or cease to gnaw.”—Of course, the mouse abominates the cat as a Destructive.

men.

One cannot but laugh with scorn at the stupid presumption of these The hand-writing has been seen on the wall; the sentence has gone forth to the aristocracy, that their kingdom has departed. Incomplete as the constituency is, it has recorded the judgment of the middle classes against the aristocrats; yet Ministers think that, making common "It cause with them, they may arrest the tide of improvement. They imagine a vain thing. Radicalism, destruction of abuse and misrule, is "Aha! the waters are rein sure progress. The waves roll in and break, and the fool says, says, is but foam ;" and they roll back, and he tiring." But the tide is flowing; and each wave as it rolls in, advances farther than the wave before it; and each wave as it rolls back, recedes to a point short of the one before.

Where have the Radicals been beaten? where have they lost ground?

from what object proposed by them has opinion declined? There was a time when they were vilified for alleging defects in the Law. The ne.. cessity for Law Reform has been admitted, and the accomplishment of it pretended. There was a time when they were vilified for opposing Intolerance. Toleration has been granted by a Tory Ministry. There was a time when they were vilified for alleging the Corruption of Parliament. The Commons' House has been in part purified, and the representative system improved. There was a time when they were vilified for reprobating the Union of Church and State, and denouncing ecclesiastical abuses. The necessity for Church Reform is now acknowledged by all; and if the country were polled, the majority of the people would be found adverse to a National Church. But we need not recite instances which will readily occur to the minds of our readers. The truth of the representations of the Radicals has been tardily and reluctantly admitted, and acted upon in manifold measures of improvement, which have been signal triumphs of the popular cause; and is it not fair to suppose that the doctrines which remain disputed and traduced are as sound as those which, one by one, despite of desperate resistance, have been pushed to success? All are in course of success. Short Parliaments may be considered as gained; and conversions to the ballot are in steady and rapid progress. While any of these propositions remain in question, they are pronounced visionary, absurd, or revolutionary; and the Radicals are covered with abuse for advocating them; but when the justness of them is at last confessed, there is no retractation of the calumnies cast upon the early supporters, no admission of the forethought and better intelligence of the traduced Reformers: and for the next object advanced by them, there is a repetition of the same insult and slanders. The fate of Actæon is the fate of all early reformers: they penetrate mysteries, are aspersed by those whose secrets they have espied, and made to seem what they are not, and persecuted and torn to pieces by the hounds who should lick their hands.--But Diana has lost her greatness; her aspersions have lost their force; her priests their credit. Demetrius has long been bankrupt; and Actæons of the present day make discoveries without danger, and follow them up successfully, notwithstanding some clamour, which no men of good heart and righteous purposes heed. All now is a question of time. To-day the man is railed at as a Destructive who proposes a beneficial change; and to-morrow it is acknowledged Reform, and the Minister who devotes himself to it is called the Saviour of his Country.

ODE

TO JOHN GULLEY, ESQ., EX-C. P. R., AND NOW M. P.*

I've turn'd the matter in my mind,
And still but this conclusion find,
("Twill strike all bards the truth who can see)
That of the Nine there's not one Muse
To you her incense can refuse,

Who rule, and long have ruled, "the Fancy,"
Brave Jack!

I take that back:
So-"Glorious John!".

But this is not the way I should get on-
No-Mister Gulley!

And, if a prouder title you desire,

I'll say-Newmarket Squire:

Or, to prononce at once your top degree,

Illustrious M. P.!

I hope that in the House you'll prove a Tully: Not like a nag of your's, (of which you've lost the knees)

Break down,

When you should rise into renown, And rival your friend Fogo,† or Demosthenes!

C. P. R., Champion of the Prize Ring.
Jack Fogo, Poet Laureate, and Orator to the
Fancy,' a covey,' combining the powers of a
Southey and a Cicero.

By England's mighty champion must be And ne'er the crossing' system went,