Denuded of respect! As where in brakes,
That lie deep-cradled by Æmodian hills,
The dodder, like a baneful serpent, throws
Its coil upon some shrub or vigorous herb,
The lonely glen's best ornament; entwined
Around each limb the parasitic wreath
Diffuses fragrance, and encircles it

With glory not its own; while, from each pore
Stealing the healthy sap, creeps slowly on

The sweet contagion, and behind it spreads
Pithless decay.'

Meanwhile, Valentinian, lost in sensual indulgence in Rome, seems heedless of the progress of the enemy. Not so, however, the citizens. Alarmed by the wild rumours of the rapid advance of the Huns, they flock in crowds towards the Capitol, breathing blasphemies against Christianity, and calling for the restoration of their former evil sacrifices. The venerable Leo confronts them on the threshold; voices are not wanting in that savage crowd to call for the sacrifice of the pontiff himself-but he, nothing daunted by their rage and clamour, commands silence, and informs them that, weak and unarmed as he is, he is prepared to go forth, confident in Heaven's aid, to meet the Hun, and endeavour to mitigate his rage. Awed by his enthusiastic and strong faith, the fickle crowd,

That came to curse, with alter'd heart and voice
Shouted Jehovah! Him in battle strong,

The King of glory, and the Lord of hosts!
While they, who to forbidden orgies clung,
Withdrew abash'd or murmuring; for the word
Was mighty, and in loud symphonious chant
Messiah's name was wafted to the skies.'

After an interview with Honoria, who now, under the effect of suffering, has become sincerely penitent, the venerable pontiff sets out upon his perilous mission. The attempt of the ambassadors of Rome, Avicinius and Trigetius, to induce the barbarian leader to spare the capital of the world, has proved fruitless. Attila drives them from his presence:

Trigelius makes a bold and indignant reply:

* Alaric.

At those high words

Flush'd with indignant heat, the vengeful king
Strode forwards, and e'en then unbridled rage
Had cut all parley short, and bade the trump
Out-breathe defiance, never blown in vain,
The warning sure of blood; but stately stept
Before him Leo; his resplendent brow
Beam'd with no earthly majesty, as, clad
In his pontifical robe, with palm outspread
He stood opposed to the destroyer's wrath:

And thus,-"Stay, impious!" he exclaimed, "the blood
Spilt by thy fury reeks e'en now to heaven,
And judgment is upon thee. Against whom
Hast thou thyself exalted? whom reproach'd,
Blaspheming the Most High? Therefore His arm
Who smote with loathsome death the impious king
In vain self-magnified; His arm who sent
Upon Sennacherib the fatal curse
Angelic, pour'd at midnight on his host,
And scared him from his lofty vaunt, to fall
By parricidal treason in the house

Of his foul god; His arm who to the dust
Bow'd the triumphant Goth,* and in few months
Wiped out the boast of victory, and laid
Him in that lowly house, where great and small
Lie mingled; thee to thine opprobrious home
Shall turn from hence confounded, and bring low
The throne, which thou last 'stablished by sin."

'The pontiff ceased; awestruck the monarch paused,
And held his speech; for round the man of God,
Who spoke, unconscious of the majesty
Wherewith Heaven clothed his brow, celestial light
Stream'd downward, and upon his right and left
Two forms, to Attila alone reveal'd,

With venerable port and hoary brows,

Larger than living, and more glorious, stood.
There was no voice, but close before the king

Martyr'd Barjona† scem'd with splendour robed,
And he of Tarsus, + his vindictive arm
Extending; as when whilome he rebuked
The sorcerer in Paphos, and dried up
His fount of light, he turn'd his stern aspect
To that unhallow'd army, which stood nigh
Confiding, and with proud impatience chafed.
The king shrank back appall'd. A sound ensued
As of an earthquake, when the mutinous winds,
Imprison'd under ground, through some vast rent
Strive viewless, shaking its distempered frame;
The sullen murmur of ten thousand fiends

Roused from their lair.

As on Sarmalia's plain,

Or where Viadrus through the level glebe
Rolls fruitfulness, if some belated swain
At dead of night invades the winged herd
Of Hyperborean fowls, that crop unseen
The verdant blade, upon his startled car
Stupendous rises the confusive rush

Of thousand mingling pinions, which at once,
As gender'd from the womb of darkness, smite
The pathless ways of air; so rose the sound
Of countless fiends departing, that aloof
Followed the Archfiend, as some nocturnal haze
Drawn bill-ward by the Sun; the rustling flight
Of Powers and dark Dominions, that forsook
Him smitten in his pride by holy fear,

And fallen.'

Pestilence assails his camp-half his army is destroyed-and the stern Hun is compelled to bid the Roman envoys depart, conceding that peace for which they had sued in vain in the outset, and to turn his steps again towards Pannonia. The following lines, which describe the disappearance of Attila's demon-steed, Grana, during the retreat, have much grandeur and solemnity of expression. A woman of terrific stature confronts the king, and warns him back:

'From earth

Sprang Grana, and, as wont, whenever brayed
The trumpet's clang for battle, or the call

Of huntsman sounded in Pannonian wilds,

Toss'd high his mane, and neigh'd, and snorting flung
His heels aloft; then, bounding, made escape.
With that ill-ominous phantom to the depths
Of lemure-haunted Hartz; and with him went
The fortunes of him fear'd above mankind.
Fame saith, in that dark forest he abides,
Unbitted, riderless, seen dimly oft
By some affrighted hind, with headlong course
Speeding o'er all obstruction, while resounds
The nightly horn, with voices, not of men,
Borne faintly on the breeze, and o'er the waste
Pale flickering lights are seen, and evil fires.'

The Eleventh Book resumes the story of Mycoltha, the Bactrian princess, who had long been bethrothed to Andages, but whom Attila now resolves to force into an union with himself. No hope remains for the lovers but in flight to the Christian. They attempt an escape from the mountain recesses of Attila's camp, which are fenced by mysterious mechanical contrivances for preventing the exit of their inhabitants :

'The tints of ruddy gold,

Which glow'd upon the firmament, had long
Bewray'd night's secrets, and the unclouded sun
Climbing the vault of heaven rode gloriously,
Ere the eighth brazen door was left bebind.

Fear gave them wings, and tremulous hope their flight
Urged onwards. Listening still with dread intense,
They start at every sound, and fancy oft

On the unbroken stiliness of the air

The fatal larum brings. At length there came
A rumour with the breeze; first indistinct,

It grew upon the ear, till plain and loud

The inflated trumpet's voice articulate
Gave warning. Over every glade remote,

North, South, and East, and West, with one accord
The simultaneous blast flew diverse, sent
From hamlet unto hamlet, till it reached
The huge circumference, where far aloof
At one same instant, on the outer belt,
Each warder hears the interdicted names
Blown by sonorous metal, and what hope
To 'scape or lie unseen, where each lone vale
And thicket hath a tongue. Aghast they stand,
As he, who in some glen, where raging flows
The rock-imbedded river, swelled by streams
From every wooded gill, whose steeps indent
The mountain sloping from its heathy waste,
Hears the stupendous thunder, which rebounds
From knoll to knoll, unto the fountain's head,
Reverberated with appalling din

Successive and unceasing.'

There is now no doubt that their pursuers are at hand, and all escape from the grasp of Attila hopeless. The lovers await their fate in each other's arms.

Andages is led back to prison, and to death on the next morn

It

ing's dawn, while immediate orders are issued for the celebration of Attila's nuptials with Mylcotha. Passing over the horrible attempt of Hilda to destroy Attila, after sacrificing two of his children, we can afford room only for one other passage. describes the catastrophe of the poem, and the sudden and mysterious death of Attila, which leads to the breaking up of the Antichristian confederacy.

The banquet has been unusually splendid, but it fails to chase away the feeling of gloom with which the mind of the Hun finds itself assailed.

'The night was mirky, and unwholesome mist
Hung o'er the grove and high place, to the Accurst
Rear'd nigh the palace. The carouse was hush'd,
And to his bridal bower the monarch stepp'd
Secure of ill; from his voluptuous couch
Never to issue in the pride of life,

Nor gird the sword, nor fulmine more the law
That wars against the spirit. Within, more pale
Than her clear virgin robe, with mournful eyes
Set on a crucifix of silver, knelt

Mycoltha. In despair her heart was turn'd
Unto her God, and purified by grief
Was wholly with its Maker. A still voice
Whisper'd beneath her bosom, that to Him
All things are possible, and mortal strength
But chaff before His breath. She rose as calm
To meet him, as if maiden pudency

Had nought to dread. A secret strength, breathed forth

As from the Highest, who is ever nigh

Those that with faithfulness and truth approach

His throne in prayer, upheld her and she stood

So beautiful, so tranquil, that she seem'd

A thing too sanctified for mortal love.

But not to Attila forbearance mild

Or stay of passion came. By beauty's sight

And that abominable meal inflamed

His throbbing pulse beat high; fierce rapture lit

His ardent gaze, and as of right he laid

Unholy touch upon her loveliness.

'Forbear, great king," the virgin spoke, with port
Majestic (and therewith her feeble hand

Upon the dire teraphim, that adorn'd

His kingly breast, with ruddy gold enchased,
She placed repulsive.)-" There is One above,
Can make the worm, whereon oppression treads,
A stumbling block to giants. Whether He wills,
For some wise end, that these weak limbs, which are
The temple of His Spirit, be made vile
By thy polluting force or not, I know
That my Redeemer liveth, and His arm,