Royal Processions through the City of London.
honour her passage through it. In consequence, a Common Council was called, and commandment given to the Haberdashers, of which craft the Mayor (Sir Stephen Peacock) then was, that they should provide a barge for the Bachelors, with a wafter and a foist, garnished with banners and streamers, as they were accustomed to do "when the Mayor is presented at Westminster on the morrow after Simon and Jude." All the other crafts were likewise commanded to prepare barges, and to garnish them, both with all the seemly banners they could procure, and with targets on the sides, and in every barge to have minstrelsy, among which are afterwards mentioned the now long exploded instruments called shalms and sagbuts. On the 29th of May,* the day appointed for the water triumph, the Mayor and his brethren all in scarlet, such as were Knights having collars of SS, and the remainder gold chains, and the Council of the City with them, assembled at St. Mary's Hill, and at one o'clock took barge. The barges of the companies amounted in number to fifty; they were enjoined under a great penalty not to row nearer one to another than at twice a barge's length, and to enforce this order, there were three light wherries, each with two officers. They then set forth in the following order. First, at a good distance before the Mayor's barge was a foist or wafter full of ordnance, having in the midst a great dragon continually moving and casting wild-fire, and around about it terrible monsters and wild men casting fire, and making hideous noises. On the right hand of the Mayor's barge was that of the Bachelors, in which were trumpets and several other melodious instruments; its decks, sailyards, and topcastles were hung with cloth of gold and silk; at the foreship and the stern were two great banners richly beaten with the arms of the King and the Queen, and on the topcastle also was a long streamer newly beaten with the said arms. The sides of the barge were set full of flags and banners of the devices of the companies of the Haberdashers and Merchant-Adventurers, and the cords were hung with innumerable pencels, having little bells at the ends, which made a goodly noise and a goodly sight, waving in
Misprinted"nineteenth" in Holinshed.
the wind. On the outside of the barge were three dozen scutcheons in metal of the King's and Queen's arms, which were beaten upon square buckram, divided so that the right side had the King's colours and the left the Queen's.
On the left hand of the Mayor was another foist, in which was a mount, whereon stood a white falcon, crowned, upon a root of gold environed with white and red roses, which was the Queen's device. About the mount sat virgins, singing and playing. Next after the Mayor followed his Fellowship, the Haberdashers; next after them the Mercers, then the Grocers, and so every Company in its order; and after all the Mayor's and Sheriffs' officers. In this order they rowed to Greenwich; and at three of the clock the Queen appeared, in rich cloth of gold, and, accompanied with several ladies and gentlewomen, entered her barge. Immediately the citizens set forwards, their minstrels continually playing, and the Bachelors' barge going on the Queen's right hand. The ships in the river were commanded to lie on the shore to make room for the barges; their guns saluted the Queen as she passed, and before she landed at the Tower. At her landing, the Lord Chamberlain, with the Officers of Arms, received her, and brought her to the King.*
The river Thames is now very inadequately provided to compete in splendour with this water pageant of the Tudor age, when all the Companies had barges, and those of the nobility were kept in the place of land carriages, then comparatively unknown.
CAMBRIDGE PRIZE COMPOSITIONS.
Præmio Porsoniano quotannis proposito dignati, et in curia Cantabrigiensi recitati comitiis maximis A.D. MDcccxxxi. auctore Georgio Johanne Kennedy, Coll. Div. Joh. schol.
SHAKSPEARE, AS YOU LIKE IT, ACT II. SCENE I.
ΑΝΑΞἜγωγ ̓ ἄνακτι σήμερον ξὺν ̓Αμιεῖ
ὄπισθε τἀνδρὸς εἶρπον, ἀρχαίας δρυος
ὑπὸ σκίᾳ κλιθέντος, ἧς πολύπτυχος
προέκυψε ρίζα ναμάτων κατοψία
ἃ τῆσδ' ἐπιῤῥέοντα καχλάζει νάπης.
οἱ καὶ τάλας τις ἔλαφος· ὃς δίχ ̓ ἐφθάρη
ταῖσιν κυναγῶν χερσί που βεβλαμμένος.
ἐπ' ἐκπνοὰς προσῆλθε θανασίμους βίου
καὶ δὴ τοιούσδε θὴρ ὁ δύστηνος γύους
ἤγειρεν, ὦναξ, ὥστε καὶ δέρας σχεδὸν
διαῤῥαγῆναι δυσπνόοις φυσήμασι.
παχέα δ' ἀπ ̓ ὄσσων νηπίου ῥινὸς κάτα
ἐφέσπετ' ἀλλήλοισι δακρύων λίβη,
οἰκτρόν γ' ἰδεῖν δίωγμα· χὧδ' ὁ ταρφύθριξ
νωθρὸν δεδορκὼς, χὑπὸ τοῦ πενθήμονος
ἐν τῶδ ̓ Ἰάχου πολλὰ τηρηθεὶς, ἄκραις
ὄχθαισι νασμῶν ὠκέων παρίστατο,
δακρυρρόω νιν αὐξάνων πλημμυρίδι.
ΒΑΣ.—τί δῆτ ̓ Ἰάχης εἶπεν ; οὐ σοφήν τινα
γνώμην ἔλεξε τῆσδε τῆς θέας πέρι ;
ΑΝΑΞ-καὶ μυρίοις γ' ᾔκαζε ποικίλλων τρόποις.
πρῶτον μὲν, ὦναξ, ὧδε τοῦ τὸ θηρίον
ῥείθρῳ ἐνδακρύσαι τἀφθόνῳ καθήψατο
φεῦ, φεῦ· ταλαίπωρ ἔλαφε, σὺ δὲ τὴν οὐσίαν
τὴν σὴν παραδιδούς, οἷα σύγγονον βροτοῖς
τῶ πρόσθ ̓ ἄγαν ἔχοντι προσνέμεις πλέον.
ἔπειθ ̓ ὁρῶν νιν μοῦνον, ἠρημωμένον,
καὶ τῶν ἐταίρων τῶν ἀβρῶν ἀγείτονα.
ὀρθῶς ἔχει τάδ', εἶπε, τὴν γάρ τοι φίλων
ἐπιῤῥόην ἐνόσφις ̓ ἡ δυσπραξιά.
ἐλάφων δὲ πλῆθος ἔκπλεων βορᾶς ἰδὼν,
εἰκῇ παρασκιρτῶν τε κοὐ προσέννεπον
χαίρειν τὸν οὐτασθέντα, δυστομεῖ τάδε·
ἴτ ̓, ὦ σφριγῶντες πίονές τε δημόται
ἴθ', ὧδε γὰρ νῦν πανταχοῦ νομίζεται·
τί τόνδε προσδέρκεσθε τὸν πανώλεθρον ;
οὕτως ἄγρους τε καὶ πόλιν καὶ δώματα
βασίλει ὀνειδιστῆρσι δεννάξει λόγοις,
καὶ πρὸς τὸν ἡμῶν τόνδε λοιδορεῖ βίον
ἁπλῶς ἐνίσπων δὴ τάδ', ὡς ὑπέρβιοι
μόνον τύραννοι παράνομοί τ ̓ ἐπήλυδες,
καὶ τῶνδε χείρους ἐσμὲν, οἳ τὰ θηρία
φοβοῦντες οὕτω πρέμνοθεν ῥαχίζομεν
ἐν τοῖσιν αὐτῶν ἐννόμοις οἰκήμασι.
Numismate annuo dignata et in curia Cantabrigiensi recitata comitiis maximis A.D.
MDCCCXXXI. auctore Jacobo Hildyard, Coll. Christ. et Univ. schol.
" MAGNAS INTER OPES INOPS."
Βιβλία πανταχόθεν κἀγάλματα, καὶ συναγείρεις
Κέρματα τοῦ κροίσου σημ ̓ ὅσ ̓ ἄνακτος ἔχει·
Καὶ τὸν ̓Αλεξάνδρου χρυσὸν, χαλκόν τε Κορίνθου,
Χῶσα ποθ ̓ ὡρχαῖος τίμι ἔθηκε χρόνος.
̓Αλλ ̓ ἐπεὶ ἔγκεισαι πλούτῳ, Δαμάσιππε, παλαιῷ,
Μή συ νέον γ ̓ ὀλέσῃς οἴκοθεν ἀργύριον.
66 PRUDENS SIMPLICITAS."
Vestibus, unguentis, cultuque insignis et auro,
Vendere se nobis stulta Corinna putat:
Prudens parcit opes gemmis insumere emendis,
Ornaturque sua simplicitate Chloe.
OXFORD PRIZE COMPOSITIONS.
[The Newdigate Poem for 1831, by Percy Ashworth, Wadham College.]
Why proudly towers yon pile aloft in air?
Why press you anxious crowd together there,
Fix'd in intensest gaze, as though one soul,
One passion, animates and moves the whole?
Hark! hear ye not the floating strain afar,
Whose mellow'd sweetness, soft and regular,
Now swells upon the gale distinct and clear,
Now dies in trembling cadence on the ear;
Whilst all around in silence seems to dwell,
Tranc'd by that dreamy and bewitching spell?
When lo! with measur'd and unfalt'ring pace,
Amid yon circling band of virgin grace,
She comes! to dare the searching pangs of fire,
A self-doomed victim to yon fun'ral
No tear is gath'ring in her large dark eye,
No weakness there,-no sign of agony!
And if her sunburnt cheek is slightly pale,
It is not terror bids the red blood fail;
And if her lips are not all motionless,
That quiv'ring speaks no womanish distress.
One last long look on scenes she loved so well, And vainly now she tries to check the swell
Of feeling o'er her heart's responding strings,
Touch'd by the breath of nature's whisperings.
Morn, dewy morn, is smiling; the blue sky
Is softly flush'd with every melting dye;
Bright golden rays the gorgeous East suffuse,
Vermilion streaks, and rich empurpled hues;
A growing flood of splendour spreads around,
And robes in heav'nly light the conscious ground!
Now gently soft, now want'ning sportively,
The young and balmy Zephyrs flutter by,
Wafting the fragrance of each op'ning flow'r
O'er the calm luxury of this blissful hour;
And gurgling rivulet, and rippling lake,
Seem joyous now that Nature is awake.
Oh, what a morn to herald such a scene,
So fresh, so bright,-so beauteously serene!
That the fair sky should call its loveliest glow!
Undimm'd, to gaze on such a sight of woe!
Glad in the light of morning's welcome beam,
Before her Gunga rolls his mighty stream;
And, as instinct with being, proud and gay,
In merry mood the light barks old their way,
CLASSICAL LITERATURE.- The Suttees.
And spread their full and whitely-gleaming sails
To woo the kisses of the wanton gales.
Those verdant banks arrest her mournful view,
With haunted Peepuld eck'd, and dark Bamboo ;
And Betel with its bark of silvery sheen,
And long pagodas rising far between:
Whilst still beyond, down hills of azure shade,
Rush the swift waters of the bright cascade.
Such are to her not voiceless; for they tell
Of days long past, and joys remembered well:
What time that shady bank she wont to rove,
Lit by the fire-flies' thousand lamps of love!
With him, stretched on that pile, to wander there,
And twine the Champac's blossom in her hair,
As ionely reign'd the peerless vesper-star
And the deep gong ebb'd faintly from afar :
To list unto the thrush at ev'ning's hour,
And the bee's humming in its own blue flow'r;
To g ze in silence, ere the sun had set,
On gilded dome and glittring minaret;
Or on the snow-capp'd hills, whose glaring white
Slept mellow'd in a rosier flush of light:
That hour, as though by some kind spirit sent,
So mutely-richly,-deeply eloquent!
Or driv'n perchance by some ill-boding dream,
When lone she hasten'd to the sacred stream,
And with a trembling hand and beating heart,
Beheld her boat of many pray'rs depart!
All, all comes swiftly crowding on her mind,
As mem'ry casts a wistful gaze behind.
Now where are they? and what is she?-No more
To view those scenes so doubly blest before:
No more to bend with all a mother's joy,
And press the soft lips of her sleeping boy:
To leave him to the world's cold charity,
With none to staunch the tear-drop in his eye;
That ere you shining sun hath sped, to lave
And veil his splendours in the western wave,
Each sweetest, dearest, loveliest, holiest scene
Must be to her as it had never been!
This half unnerves her-but 'tis quickly past;
She checks a tear that stole, the first and last!
What! shall she still live on in widow'd state,
Her partner gone, her hearth all desolate?
Still shall she tread the scene, to play her part
In blank, unsolaced brokenness of heart;
And like the ivy, when its stay has gone,
Slowly to droop, and drooping die alone?
Shut out from Sweiga's bowers, her spirit doom'd
To wander long in other forms entomb'd;-
Her consort too denied the joys of heav'n;
Her friends debarred the bliss her death had giv'n?
No, she is fix'd: her sun it hath not set!
The blood that fills her veins is gen'rous yet!
A last adieu to all;-the parting word,
The kiss that clings,-the blessing scarcely heard!
Th' embrace that seems as nought its links could
The madd'ning thought that they must part for
For ever?-Nay,-hope whispers o'er the sea,
Some spot of happiness shall smile for thee;
Some blessed isle, where sons as bright shall shine
As those that warm this golden land of thine!
Yes! beauteous as those islets, imag'd clear
In that too lovely lake of fair Cashmere !
Where the blue lotus trembles in the gale,
That fans with spicy breath each emerald vale;
And o'er the flowery mound's sun-loving slope
Light bounds the silver-footed antelope!
There all shall glitter, verdant, fresh and bright,
As that famed fairy City of Delight, [bine,
Where hues enwreath'd of flow'rs and gems com.
As though to weave celestial beauty's shrine!
The sweet Syrinda shall beguile thine hours
In sandal-groves, and blushing orange-bow'rs;
Whilst maidens long-remember'd here, shall wake
The wild, sweet chorus by the moon-lit lake;
Or brush with tinkling feet the glades afar,
Like Peri forms in meads of Candahar.
Some young Aspara too shall touch the lute,
Whilst every sound in earth and air is mute;
And Chrishna, idol of the heart! shall come,
A beam of glory to that favor'd home!
There sleepless gales shall breathe of fragrancy,
And rills shall laugh as bright as pleasure's eye:
Fair-as the vision'd vistas of delight
Untainted fancy calls to childhood's sight;
Pure-as the dreams that float on filmy wing"
Around the couch of infant's slumbering!
Soft-as the dewy tear that gently flows
From woman's soul-fraught eye for others' woes!
There all shall meet when life's short act is o'er,
Partake of endless joy and part no more.
'Tis past as though impatient of delay,
From each embrace she tears herself away;
On the lov'd friends and priests assembled there
Bestows the pledges of her love and care:
And fondly deems, that, when in after days
They chaunt at ev'ning's hour their happy lays,
These tokens may recall her form again,
Her name may mingle with their artless strain!—
And now her limbs she duly bends, to lave
In holy Gunga's sanctifying wave;
Then fit for Swerga's happy realms, and free
From each terrestrial impurity,
{bride!
Clad in her snowy vestments, Death's young
She sips the waters of the sacred tide;
And, careful lest aught earthly should defile,
With step compos'd advances to the pile.
Thrice moves she round with gesture sad and slow;
Her look half sorrowful, half wild, as though
The fear of death and hate of life entwin'd
In deadly struggle, racked her tortur'd mind.
But nerv'd to strength, and goaded by despair,
Her spirit warms, and bids her boldly dare;
She mounts the pile, and, e'en in death allied,
Calmly reclines her partner's form beside!
A deep and death-like stillness; not a sound
Escapes the expectant multitude around,
Whilst with firm hand, and unaverted gaze,
The hoary Brahmin plies the torch's blaze:
Soon spreads above the swiftly-rushing fire,
And volum'd flame enwraps the lofty pyre.
Then bursts at once the madd'ning yell around,
The drum's swift beat, the cymbals clashing
sound;
And the thick flame fierce-shooting to the skies
Angrily mounts 'mid din of frantic cries.
With eager zeal the ready priests engage,
And fling fresh food to glut its hungry rage:
A moment-slowly roll upon the air
Vast pitchy clouds of smoke, and now with glare
Oftenfold brightness, bursting through the veil,
In their full might th' imprison'd flames prevail!
Till their wild ire, and wilder shouts subside,
And to the waters of the sacred tide,
With decent care, and cautious to profane,
They fling the few poor relics that remain.
The stream rolls on,-the rite is o'er at last,
All that was life like some faint dream has pass'd.
And such is woman's love! whose magic pow'r Can change the gloomiest to the brightest hour; Can smooth the deep lines care has learn'd to plough,
And chase the cloud of anguish from the brow.
It droops not, parts not with the parting breath,
But smiles a proud defiance unto death!"
Yes! if in woman's soul, despite of all,
Degrading creeds, and custom's blinding thrall,
Though bound by superstition's galling chains,
Feeling so noble, so divine remains!
Exalted by a purer faith, refined
By better thoughts, with fairer hopes entwin'd;
Oh! where the brighter star to cheer our gloom,
Make heav'n of earth, and triumph o'er the tomb!
Clime of the Sun! kind Nature's lavish hand
Hath show'red her choicest blessings o'er thy
land;
Hath cloth'd thee in her loveliest garb, and flung
Her richest gifts thy fertile meads among!
And oh thy sons and daughters-must they bow,
And wear the brand of scorn upon their brow,
Form'd for each finer feeling, and endow'd
With souls that should not grovel with earth's
crowd?
No! still they tell of what they once have been,
Ere war and rapine blasted the fair scene.
Though scorn'd and trampled, long-insulted race!
Though pride would crush, and tyranny debase;
Though priesteraft blight, and prejudice beset,
The living soul of passion lingers yet!
Thine are the hearts whose gen'rous zeal disdains
The blood that stagnates in our northern veins !
And if that zeal were wrested to sustain
Deceit, 'tis ours to pity-not arraign!
CLASSICAL LITERATURE.-Sotheby's Homer.
But brighter days shall come ; a purer creed
With far sublimer hopes the soul shall feed!
That faith which Heber came to teach, shall
spread,
And pour the "oil of gladness" o'er thine head.
But he was snatch'd from his career away,
'Mid the fair promise of a better day,
And thine, warm-hearted race! the sadd'ning
To shed the tears of sorrow o'er his tomb.
Yet when in future days the joyful sound
Mr. URBAN, Bremhill, July 1.
MR. SOTHEBY has gained great and deserved credit for his excellent and spirited and faithful translation of Homer; but my highly accomplished and most valued old friend has, in a very few passages, deserted the sim
Of Gospel peace hath spread thy land around;
When the last pile shall lift its head on high,
Rear'd by the hands of Truth and Liberty;
And heavenly Knowledge shall her torch prepare
To burn the form of Superstition there:
Then shalt thou be remember'd, Heber! then
Shall India turn unto thy name again;
Which blended with their grateful sacrifice,
Winged on a people's blessing, unto God shall
rise!
plicity of the original, and even adopted some images which are only found in Pope. For the sake of this most animated and generally correct version of the old Bard, I am certain I shall be forgiven by the admirable and amiable Translator, if I point out one remarkable passage where he has failed. *Ως φάτο Πάτροκλος δὲ φίλῳ ἐπεπείθεθ ̓ ἑταίρῳ, Ἐκ δ ̓ ἄγαγε κλισίης Βρισηίδα καλλιπάρηον, Δῶκε δ ̓ ἄγειν· τὰ δ ̓ αὖτις ἴτην παρὰ νῆας Ἀχαιῶν· Ἡ δ ̓ ἀέκουσ ̓ ἅμα τοῖσι γυνὴ κίεν· Αὐτὰρ ̓Αχιλλεὺς Δακρύσας, ἐτάρων ἄφαρ ἔζετο νόσφι λιασθείς,
Θῖν ̓ ἔφ ̓ ἁλὸς πολιῆς, ὁρόων ἐπὶ οἴνοπα πόντον. Book I. line 345. First, we will read Pope—
Patroclus now th' unwilling beauty brought;
She in soft sorrow, and in pensive thought,
Past silent as the heralds held her hands,
And oft looked back, slow moving o'er the
strand.
Not so his loss the fierce Achilles bore,
But sad retiring to the sounding shore,
O'er the wild margin of the deep he hung,
That kindred deep from whence his mother
sprung.
Of this kindred deep from whence
his mother sprung," old Homer says
nothing; as little of the "soft sor-
rows,"
"pensive thoughts" of the
"beauty," and her "oft looking back"
as she past, with the heralds "slow
moving" o'er the sands! All this is
very pretty, but gratuitous prettiness
on the part of Pope.
Let us turn to Sotheby:
He spoke; nor him Patroclus disobey'd,
But to the heralds led the unwilling maid:
Onward they went,while,ling'ring as she past,
On her lov'd lord her look Briseis cast!
Perhaps she might, but Homer has not told us so, and Sotheby has only added to the additions of Pope.
So much for Briseis: now for Achilles, penseroso.
They past from sight, alone, from all apart,
Tears, like large life drops gushing from the
"Tears, like what?" my old master,
"Construe
Dr. Warton would say:
it! construe it, boy!"
Having taken the liberty of pointing
GENT. MAG. July, 1831.
out what Homer did not say, let us see what he did say. The passage rendered literally, is this:
"He spoke, and Patroclus obeyed his dear friend, and led from the tent Briseis, with fair cheeks, and gave her to them (the heralds) to lead, and they went back towards the Grecian ships-and the woman, unwilling, went with them. But Achilles, tearful, sate, apart from his friends, on the shore of the hoar seas, gazing on the blue main.”
This is the passage, without a word of addition. Now let the Critic try : He spoke-Patroclus his dear friend obey'd, And from the tent led forth the blooming maid:
Then to the heralds gave, to lead away :
Back to the Grecian ships their passage lay:
With them the woman went unwillingly.
Achilles, lonely and with tearful eye,
Apart, and distant from his social train,
Sat by the surge, and gaz'd on the blue
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