'Gondibert' is a large and able, without being a great poem. It has the incurable and indefensible defect of dulness. 'The line labours, and the words move slow.' The story is interesting of itself, but is lost in the labyrinthine details. It has many lines, and some highly and successfully wrought passages; but as a whole we may say of it as Porson said of certain better productions, 'It will be read when the works of Homer and Virgil are forgotten--but _not till then_.'

FROM 'GONDIBERT'--CANTO II.

THE ARGUMENT.

The hunting which did yearly celebrate The Lombards' glory, and the Vandals' fate: The hunters praised; how true to love they are, How calm in peace and tempest-like in war. The stag is by the numerous chase subdued, And straight his hunters are as hard pursued.

1 Small are the seeds Fate does unheeded sow Of slight beginnings to important ends; Whilst wonder, which does best our reverence show To Heaven, all reason's sight in gazing spends.

2 For from a day's brief pleasure did proceed, A day grown black in Lombard histories, Such lasting griefs as thou shalt weep to read, Though even thine own sad love had drained thine eyes.

3 In a fair forest, near Verona's plain, Fresh as if Nature's youth chose there a shade, The Duke, with many lovers in his train, Loyal and young, a solemn hunting made.

4 Much was his train enlarged by their resort Who much his grandsire loved, and hither came To celebrate this day with annual sport, On which by battle here he earned his fame,

5 And many of these noble hunters bore Command amongst the youth at Bergamo; Whose fathers gathered here the wreaths they wore, When in this forest they interred the foe.

6 Count Hurgonil, a youth of high descent, Was listed here, and in the story great; He followed honour, when towards death it went; Fierce in a charge, but temperate in retreat.

7 His wondrous beauty, which the world approved, He blushing hid, and now no more would own (Since he the Duke's unequalled sister loved) Than an old wreath when newly overthrown.

8 And she, Orna the shy! did seem in life So bashful too, to have her beauty shown, As I may doubt her shade with Fame at strife, That in these vicious times would make it known.

9 Not less in public voice was Arnold here; He that on Tuscan tombs his trophies raised; And now Love's power so willingly did bear, That even his arbitrary reign he praised.

10 Laura, the Duke's fair niece, enthralled his heart, Who was in court the public morning glass, Where those, who would reduce nature to art, Practised by dress the conquests of the face.

11 And here was Hugo, whom Duke Gondibert For stout and steadfast kindness did approve; Of stature small, but was all over heart, And, though unhappy, all that heart was love.

12 In gentle sonnets he for Laura pined, Soft as the murmurs of a weeping spring, Which ruthless she did as those murmurs mind: So, ere their death, sick swans unheeded sing.

13 Yet, whilst she Arnold favoured, he so grieved, As loyal subjects quietly bemoan Their yoke, but raise no war to be relieved, Nor through the envied fav'rite wound the throne.