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And by it, here and there, a shepherd's cot
Was lowly built."

They are received with hospitable welcome in this retreat by Eubolus, a man

courtly educated, wise, and sage,

Able to teach, yet willing to enrich

His knowledge with discourses, smooth in speech
Yet not of many words."

Alexis, having secured possession of the throne, sinks into a lethargy of grief, from which he is at length roused by the increasing danger which threatened Arcadia, from the piratical incursions of some of the desperate adherents of the late king, who had established themselves in a small island near the Arcadian coast. Alexis collects his forces, and, by his conduct and valour, speedily overcomes and exterminates the rebels. Returning in triumph to his capital, he is struck by the beauty of Florimel, who, among others, attends to strew his way with flowers in honour of his victory; but his advances are coldly repulsed by " Diana's votaress.

"That night perforce

They all were glad within the open plain

To pitch their tents, where many a shepherd swain
Upon their pipes troll'd out their evening lays

In various accents, emulous of praise.

It was a dainty pleasure for to hear

How the sweet nightingales their throats did tear,
Envying their skill, or taken with delight,
As I think rather, that the still-born night
Afforded such co-partners of their woes.

And at a close from the pure stream that flows
Out of the rocky caverns, not far off,

Echo replied aloud, and seem'd to scoff

At their sweet-sounding airs."

The king rises next morning with heavy cheer to renew his march. In his way he meets Memnon, and recognizing him as the father of Florimel, receives him graciously, and orders him to attend him at court. Memnon, haunted with the idea that Alexis was his long-lost son, determines to accept his invitation, and orders his daughter, much against her inclination, to prepare to accompany him. Anaxus, meanwhile, obtaining from Eubolus an account of Florimel and Memnon, suspects that they are his mistress and her father, "the banished Codrus,"

whom he had been long seeking. He sets out to visit a sort of convent, where Florimel resided along with Diana's nymphs, and, after some difficulty, obtains access to her.

Clarinda came at last

With all her train, who, as along she pass'd
Through the inward court, did make a lane,
Opening their ranks, and closing them again
As she went forward, with obsequious gesture,
Doing their reverence. Her upward vesture
Was of blue silk, glistering with stars of gold,
Girt to her waist by serpents, that enfold
And wrap themselves together, so well wrought
And fashion'd to the life, one would have thought
They had been real. Underneath she wore
A coat of silver tinsel, short before,

And fring'd about with gold: white buskins hide
The naked of her leg, they were loose tied
With azure ribands, on whose knots were seen
Most costly gems, fit only for a queen.
Her hair bound up like to a coronet,
With diamonds, rubies, and rich sapphires set;
And on the top a silver crescent plac'd,
And all the lustre by such beauty grac'd,
As her reflection made them seem more fair;
One would have thought Diana's self were there,
For in her hand a silver bow she held,

And at her back there hung a quiver fill'd

With turtle-feather'd arrows."

After an interview of hesitation and doubt, they are satisfied of each other's identity, and give a loose to joy. They are soon obliged, by the rules of the convent, to separate, and Anaxus returns to the house of his friend Eubolus, to deliberate on the means of escaping with Clarinda. Cleon and Rhotus arriving at court, find the king conferring with Sylvanus, whom he had sent for to expound a strange dream which troubled his fancy.

ゆる

"One might perceive such changes in the king,

As hath th' inconstant welkin in the spring;

Now a fair day, anon a dropsie cloud

Puts out the sun, and in a sable shroud

The day seems buried; when the clouds are o'er,

The glorious sun shines brighter than before :

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Alexis receives Rhotus with grateful warmth, and recognizes Cleon as a Lemnian friend. Rhotus, perceiving the king greatly oppressed by the painful recollections which their presence conjured up, after sounding him for a time, to ascertain the truth of his conjectures, informs Clearchus, that she whom he wept as drowned was preserved, and that

"Thealma lives."

"And here the Author died, and I hope the reader will be sorry,”

adds old Izaak, and sorry we are to take our leave of thee, Chalkhill or Walton, or "whatever title please thine ear."

It is no very easy task, nor is it altogether fair, to criticise the merits of an unfinished tale; but no conclusion could have rendered the story of Thealma and Clearchus either very clear or very interesting, though revision might probably have removed many incongruities and unnecessary entanglements. In its present state, it is so interrupted and involved as to defy the patience and attention of the mere reader. The chronological succession of events is continually lost sight of, and an episode is not unfrequently introduced by one character, continued by another, and concluded by a third, at different times, and under different circumstances. The unfinished state of the poem assuredly adds to its perplexity, from our ignorance of the object to which these several details tend, but we cannot conceive that any winding-up could have extricated the reader satisfactorily from its labyrinth of stories. The characters in Thealma and Clearchus are drawn without much force or distinctness of outline. Alexis and Anaxus, Thealma and Clarinda, Memnon and Rhotus, differ from each other only in name. Chalkhill's heroes are brave and amorous; his ladies chaste and beautiful; his old men wise and virtuous; his tyrants haughty and licentious: but the finer traits of individuality are wanting, and his characters are rather unsubstantial abstractions of good or evil, than living and breathing forms, with their own peculiar feelings and impulses. Nor are the incidents of the poem conceived with much felicity, or brought about with much attention to probability. The nearest relatives and the fondest lovers jostle against one another at every turn, without the slightest suspicion of each other's identity.,

The versification of Thealma and Clearchus, as our readers must have remarked, is extremely sweet and equable. Occasionally harsh lines and unlicensed rhymes occur, but they are only exceptions to the general style of the poem, the errors of haste or negligence. The author had evidently a fine ear for metrical harmony, and his "pastoral historie" will bear an advantageous comparison with the works of any of his contempo

raries. Its excellence is not the result of evenly-balanced syllables and epigrammatic couplets, but of that varied and flowing melody which is the perfection of narrative poetry. His is, indeed, a "linked sweetness," not a deviation into harmony, like the best couplets of Cowley and Denham, nor does he sink into the flatness and monotony which too often debase the proverbial smoothness of Waller. The good sense and natural taste of Walton preserved his genius free from the trammels of the metaphysical school, of which his admired friends, Donne and Herbert, were such zealous disciples; and his spirit was too pure to imbibe a taint of that grossness and depravity of taste, which, at a subsequent period, infected the national literature. When we turn from the writings of his contemporaries, and escape from the smoke of metaphysics and the stir and turmoil of the great world, to the pastoral repose of Thealma, we feel like one, who, long "in populous city pent, where houses thick and sewers annoy the air," inhales again the spirit-stirring breeze of the fields, expatiates amidst smiling plains and embowered walks, and listens to the musical strife of birds, or the plash of distant waterfalls. In these Arcadian strains, the fields and woods assume a more vivid green, the streams flow with a more silvery brightness, the feathered choristers contend in more delicious warblings, and nature looks as fresh and fair as

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The genius of Walton never soars into the region of clouds and storms, but broods over the quiet vale, and luxuriates in the calm sun-shine: it triumphs in the display of meek and widowed love; of grief, gentle and resigned, not embittered by remorse or darkened by horror; of the warm feelings of noble and ingenuous youth, or the benevolent wisdom of virtuous old age; of images of domestic or rural felicity; of pastoral manners of more than Arcadian purity, and of scenery of luxuriant but unobtrusive beauty. If the stream of his poetry is not deep or majestic, it is always pure, and calm and sparkling. It does not rush along with the daring impetuosity of a mountain stream, chafing with opposing rocks, or dashing from precipitous cliffs, or, with collected strength, bearing down its banks, and sweeping over the conquered plains in terrific sublimity: it rather resembles the gentle stream that glides imperceptibly along, through sheltered vales and sunny glades, winding and lingering amidst scenes of sequestered loveliness, or expanding its placid waters in dimpling beauty to the sun, and catching and reflecting every evanescent hue of heaven.

ART. V. Nicolai Gurtleri Historia Templariorum. Amstelodam. 8vo. 1703.

"There is scarcely," says Fuller, "a harder question in later history than this, whether the Templars were justly or unjustly condemned to suffer." It is, nevertheless, a matter of great curiosity, and of no mean advantage, to inquire into so singular and so terrible a persecution, in which all the parties concerned were so illustrious and conspicuous, and the sufferings of the accused so aggravated; and which, at the same time, is so intimately connected with the history of the age in which it took place. Nor does this problem seem to us of such a difficult complexion as to preclude all hopes of a successful solution, dissenting as we do from the opinion of the " brace of Spanish writers," quoted by the historian of the Holy Wars, who give us the following advice." Concerning these Templars, whether they were guiltie or not, let us suspend our censures till the day of judgement, and then, and not sooner, shall we certainly be informed therein."

The general outlines of the history of the valiant order of Knights-Templars are well known. The little volume, at the head of this article, presents a succinct view of their origin, their progress, and their suppression; but it is to the latter part of their history that, at the present moment, we intend more particularly to apply ourselves.* The institution is well known to have originated in the zeal of certain French knights, who, observing the miseries to which the pilgrims to the Holy Land were exposed from the cruelty of the Saracens, formed themselves into a body for their protection. By degrees, the order acquired numbers and strength, and power and riches soon followed. In the crusades, of course, the soldiers of the military orders acted a conspicuous part. With their valorous exploits on the plains of Syria, and before the walls of her cities, the chronicles of the time and the pages of later historians are filled. In every deadly onset, the standard of the Temple still waved over the foremost Christian ranks, while the dreaded

There are several French works on the subject of the condemnation of the Templars. Much information may be gained from that of M. Raynouard, entitled Monumens Historiques relatifs à la condamnation des Chevaliers du Temple; 8vo. Paris, 1813. It contains extracts from the MS. processes against the French Templars, which we have occasionally quoted.

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