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of which embraced every part of the enemy's position, and from whence every movement on their part could be immediately observed. The troops had bivouacked that night in position, as they stood: Lord Wellington in the wood near the centre, the general officers at the heads of their divisions and brigades. The orders were that all should stand to their arms before day-light; and the whole army were in high spirits, deeming themselves sure of an action, and of success. Before day-break the rattling of the enemy's carriages was heard, and a few of their guns were brought to fire upon a smaller number of British ones which had been placed to command the road. At dawn the action began on the right, and after some firing by the light troops in advance of the position, the enemy attacked a village which was in front of the light division, and which, though its possession was of advantage to the French, Lord Wellington chose rather to let them occupy, than suffer an action to be brought on upon less favorable ground than that which he had chosen, and where he was sure of success. The nature of the ground, upon which this assurance was founded, facilitated the enemy's movements to a certain degree, but no further; its steepness and its inequalities covered their ascent, and they gained the summit with little loss. Regnier's corps was the first that was seriously engaged: it ascended at a part where there were only a few light troops; and being thus enabled to deploy without opposition, the French possessed themselves for a moment, in considerable strength, of a point within the line. Their first column was received by the 88th regiment alone, part of Major-General Mackinnon's brigade, which was presently reinforced by half the 45th, and soon afterwards by the 8th Portugueze : their second found the 74th, with the 9th and 21st Portugueze, ready to receive them on the right. Being repulsed there, they tried the centre with no better fortune: the remainder of Major-General Picton's division coming up, he charged them with the bayonet, and dislodged them, greatly superior in numbers as they were, from the strong ground which they had gained; at the same time, Major-General Leith arriving with a brigade on their flank, joined in the charge, and they were driven down the hill with great slaughter, leaving 700 dead upon the ground. Few prisoners were taken.

"Marshal Ney meantime was not more fortunate with his division. Part of it he formed in column of mass, and ordered it to ascend upon the right of the village which he had occupied. They came up in the best possible order, though not without suffering considerably from the light infantry; the ground, however, covered them in part by its steepness. Major-General Craufurd, who commanded on that side, judiciously made his troops withdraw just behind the crest of the ridge whereon they were formed: he himself remained in front, on horseback, observing the enemy. No sooner had they reached the summit than the guns of his division opened a destructive fire upon them; and the men appearing suddenly at a distance only of some twenty paces, advanced and charged. Instantly the French were broken; the foremost regiments of the column were almost destroyed, and those who escaped fled down the steep declivity, running, sliding, or rolling, as they could. General Simon, who commanded the column, was wounded and taken. Massena was now convinced that the attack could not succeed, and, therefore, halted the support at the foot of the hill. He endeavoured to decoy Lord Wellington out of a position which had been proved impregnable: but the British commander persisted in the sure system on which he had resolved, and the remainder of the day was employed in skirmishing between the light troops. They were directed to retire when pressed, and give the enemy an opportunity of repeating the attack. But the enemy had received too severe a lesson to venture upon a repetition, and, as night approached, they were drawn off to some distance, near the ground where Junot and the reserve were stationed. The village which they had been allowed to occupy in the morning still remained in their possession. Major-General Craufurd sent to the officer who commanded there, saying it was necessary for his corps, and requiring him to abandon it. The reply was, that he would die in defence of the post with which he was intrusted. This tone was neither called for by the occasion nor justified by the event. Six guns were immediately opened upon him; some companies of the 43d and of the Rifle Corps were ordered to charge the village; the French were instantly driven out, and the advanced post of the light division resumed possession.

"Victories of greater result at the time have been gained in Portugal, but never was a battle fought there of more eventual importance to the Portugueze nation; for the Portugueze troops, whom the French despised, whom the enemies of the ministry in England reviled, and whom perhaps many of the British army till then mistrusted, established

that day their character both for courage and for discipline, and proved, that however the government and the institutions of that kingdom had been perverted and debased, the people had not degenerated. Lord Wellington bore testimony to their deserts: he declared that he had never seen a more gallant attack than that which they made upon the enemy who had reached the ridge of the Serra; they were worthy, he said, of contending in the same ranks with the British troops in that good cause, which they afforded the best hopes of saving. Marshal Beresford bestowed high and deserved praise upon them in general orders; and the opportunity was taken of granting a free pardon to all who were under arrest for military offences, that they might rejoin their regiments, and emulate their comrades to whose good conduct they were indebted for this forgiveness; but persons who had been apprehended for robbery or murder were excepted from the amnesty, for these, it was properly observed, were not to be considered merely as military crimes. After this battle, the knighthood of the Bath was conferred on Marshal Beresford, in consideration of those exertions by which the Portugueze troops had been qualified to bear their part in it so honorably.

"The loss of the British in this memorable action amounted to 107 killed, 493 wounded, and 31 taken; that of the Portugueze to 90 killed, 552 wounded, and twenty taken. One French general, three colonels, thirty-three officers, and 250 men were made prisoners; 2000 were left dead on the field; the number was ascertained, because Massena sent a flag of truce requesting permission to bury them; it was not thought proper to comply with the request, and they were buried by the conquerors. Most of their wounded, who were very numerous, were left to the mercy of the peasants; General Craufurd, whose division was the last that withdrew from the Serra, saved as many as he could from their hands, and lodged them in the convent. Unground maize was found in the knapsacks of the French."

Sonnets, and other Poems; partly written in India, by David Leicester Richardson, Esq. pp. 144. Third Edition. Jones and Co., Acton Place. Sold by T. and G. Underwood, Fleet Street, London. 1827.

It is well known that the sonnet is of Italian origin, Petrarca, Casci, Bembo, &c. have all produced the most beautiful specimens of this elegant species of poetry. The peculiar construction of the verse in the sonnet renders its adaptation to the Italian language far more congenial than it can ever be to the English. The frequent recurrence of vowels, the musical flow of its syllabic divisions, in short, the predominating euphony of the Italian tongue, are attributes of the highest importance in constructing a sonnet. Our language, though by no means inharmonious or incapable of melodious modification, is more generally characterized for its sternness, rigid manliness of expressive diction, and vigorous capabilities in blank verse, the heroic measure, &c. Perhaps the only language that at once combines the qualifications required for the tenderest and the sternest, the humblest and sublimest composition, is the Greek.

From the somewhat complex nature of the sonnet it necessarily follows, that a good legitimate one is rare. It now is very common for diurnal poets to preface "sonnet" to fourteen lines, without any

Some of the Portugueze charging a superior force got so wedged in among the French, that they had not room to use their bayonets; they turned up the butt ends of their muskets, and plied them with such vigour, that they presently cleared the way.

regard to the structure of the verse: this is an assuming absurdity that really ought not to be tolerated; it throws a false air of facility around that which is really arduous to complete. The sonnet may be divided into two parts,-the first eight lines, and the concluding six, the former contain four different rhymes, two of which are twice repeated; the concluding six rhyme alternately: this is the real Italian sonnet, though some of the best English sonnets frequently vary from the EXACT model. In addition to the peculiarity of its structure, something else requires the attention of the poet ;-he ought to let one striking thought pervade the whole; its conclusion should be not altogether so epigrammatical as sweepingly reflective,—if we may use the expression. Thus it will easily be perceived, that a thought must have some vigor to permit of its presiding through fourteen lines: to keep it from flagging and dwindling into laborious monotony, is the chief art of the composer.

Although we are ourselves not much attached to the sonnet, we are most ready to read a good one, and to applaud the talents of its writer. We have not been disappointed in the perusal of Mr. Richardson's volume. We remember the appearance of a former edition of his poems, and then participated with the public feelings of approbation with which they were received.

The present edition is considerably enlarged and improved, and cannot fail of yielding delight wherever it is read. Mr. Richardson appears the poet of feeling; one who loves to view Nature in her mildly attractive graces, and to describe the varied emotions of the heart with a fancy mellowed by unaffected melancholy. He is never strained through labor, or tempestuous through the unfettered ravings of a wild imagination. We may compare his poetry to a sweet romantic stream, that winds its limpid current in all the loveliness of a sequestered calm; rippling gently to the fanning breezes, but still flowing on in its ever beautiful self-will. His verse is equable, without being monotonous, and pathetic without being drivelling---something very rare in these days of everlasting chime. We never find any glaring error, grossness, or affectation. Mr. Richardson seems to write, not because he wishes to show himself a poet, but because he cannot help feeling as one: thus his language is inspired by the subject, and his poetry becomes the interpreter of his heart. No man was ever yet a real poet without this portion of feeling. There is one more virtue we must mention---one that not only graces the highest strain of poësy, but is likewise the omen of a warm and benevolent soul,-we allude to the philanthropical and tender sentiment that pervades his poems; and which is at times aptly rendered subservient to lofty and consolatory allusions to the Architect of nature, and the home of peace that shall hereafter mansion the blessed. Having thus stated our opinion of Mr. Richardson, we shall have no need to comment on the merits of the succeeding extracts; they will, we are assured, be their own eulogium. We may be allowed, however, to add, that many of the sonnets are charmingly descriptive of Indian scenery; that the "Father's Address" is overwhelmingly tender, and that the "Soldier's "Dream" breathes quite a Byronial spirit.

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The Foe had fled---the fearful strife had ceased---
And shouts arose of mockery and joy,

As the loud Trumpet's wild exulting voice
Proclaim'd the Victory! With weary tread,
But spirit undepress'd, the Victors passed
On to the neighbouring Citadel, nor deemed,
Nor recked they, in that moment's pride, of aught
But glory won. Or if a transient thought
Recalled the fallen Brave, 'twas like the cloud
That flits o'er Summer's brow---a passing shade!
Yet, on the battle-plain how many lay

In their last dreamless sleep! And there were those
Who vainly struggled in the mighty grasp
Of that stern Conqueror---Death.

The fitful throes

Of parting life, at intervals, would wring,
E'en from the proudest heart, the piercing cry
Of mortal agony! In pain I sunk,
Worn and disabled, 'mid the dead and dying.
Night's shadows were around---the sickly Moon,
Dim and discolored, rose, as though she mourned
To gaze upon a scene so fraught with woe!

And there was One who passed me at this hour,
A form familiar to my memory,

From long-departed years. For we had met
In early youth, with feelings unconcealed,

And passions unrepressed. E'en then he seemed
The bane of every joy. His brow grew pale

At boyhood's happy voice and guileless smile,

As though they mocked him. Now he sternly mark'd My well-remembered face, yet lingered not.

There was a taunt upon his haughty lip,

A fiery language in his scowling eye,

My proud heart ill could brook!

E'en like a vision of the fevered brain,

His image haunted me---and urged to madness--

And when exhausted Nature sunk to rest,

.The blood-red sod my couch, the tempest cloud
My canopy, my bed-fellows the dead,
My lullaby the moaning midnight wind---

I had a Dream,---a strange bewildered dream,
And he was with me!

Methought I heard the Messenger of Death
Tell of another world, while awful shrieks
Of wild despair, and agony, and dread,

Shook the dark vault of heaven !---Suddenly

Deep silence came,--- and all the scene was changed! Insufferable radiance glared around

And mocked the dazzled eye. In robes of light,
High on a gorgeous throne, appeared a Form
Of pure Celestial Glory! In deep awe,

A silent and innumerable throng

Of earth-born Warriors bowed. That Form sublime,
In these benign and memorable words,

Breathed holy consolation-" Ye that owned
Religion for your Leader, and revered
The Family of Man, and toiled and bled
For Liberty and Justice! Ye have fought
A glorious fight, and gained a glorious meed,---
A bright inheritance of endless joy---

A Home of endless rest!"

Now straight appeared,

With lineaments divinely beautiful,

Fair shapes of bright-wing'd beings, holy guides
To realms of everlasting peace and love!
Alas! how few of that surrounding host

Were led to happier worlds? That hallowed band

In radiant light departed! but the Form

That sat upon the Throne, now sternly rose

With clouded brow, and majesty severe,

And this dread judgment gave---(while darkness wrapt

The strange and unimaginable scene)--

"He that can love not Man, loves not his God!

And, lo! his image ye have dared to mar

In hate and exultation, and for this
Shall ceaseless strife, and agonies of death,
Be your eternal doom!"

Now with triumphant howls of mockery,
More horrible than shuddering Fancy hears,
Raising dread echoes in the charnel vault,
Uprose the Fiends of Hell! and urged us on,
Through paths of fearful gloom, till one broad plain,
Of endless space, burst on the startled eye!
In the dim distance glittered shafts of war ;---
Despair's wild cry, and Hate's delirious shout,
The din of strife, and shrieks of agony,

Came on the roaring blast! A mighty voice,
Piercing the dissonance infernal, cried,

"On to the Hell of Battle, and the war

Coeval with Eternity!" That voice,

Whose sound was thunder, breathed resistless spells, For, wrought to sudden frenzy, on we rushed

To join the strife of millions.

One alone

Amid that countless throng mine eyes controlled.

His was the form I loved not in my youth,

And cursed in after years. We madly met--

A wild thrust reached him.---Then he loudly shrieked,

And imprecated Death---alas! in vain !--

To yield the final pang! With unquenched rage

He turned again on his eternal foe

In fierce despair!---But he was victor now--

And in unutterable pain---I woke !

'Twas morning--and the sun's far-levelled rays Gleamed on the ghastly brows and stiffened limbs Of those that slumbered---ne'er to wake again!

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