No. VIII.

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George Canning
Jan. 1, 1798.

A correspondent has adapted the beautiful poem of the Battle of Sabla, in “Carlyle’s Specimens of Arabian Poetry,” to the circumstances of the present moment. We shall always be happy to see the poetry of other times and nations so successfully engaged in the service of our country, and of the present order of society.

THE CHOICE.
(FROM THE BATTLE OF SABLA, BY JAAFER BEN ALBA.)

I.
Hast thou not seen th’ insulting foe
In fancied triumphs crown’d?
And heard their frantic rulers throw
These empty threats around?
“Make now YOUR CHOICE! The terms we give,
Desponding Britons, hear!
These fetters on your hands receive,
Or in your hearts the spear.”
Can we forget our old renown;
Resign the empire of the sea;
And yield at once our sovereign’s crown,
Our ancient laws and liberty?
Shall thus the fierce destroyer’s hand
Pass unresisted o’er our native land?
Our country sink, to barb’rous force a prey,
And ransom’d England bow to Gallic sway?
II.
“Is then the contest o’er?” we cried,
“And lie we at your feet?
And dare you vauntingly decide
The fortune we shall meet?
A brighter day we soon shall see;
No more the prospect lours;
And Conquest, Peace, and Liberty
Shall gild our future hours.”
Yes! we will guard our old renown;
Assert our empire o’er the sea;
And keep untouch’d our sovereign’s crown,
Our ancient laws and liberty.
Not thus the fierce destroyer’s hand
Shall scatter ruin o’er this smiling land;
No barb’rous force shall here divide its prey;
Nor ransom’d England bow to Gallic sway.
III.
The foe advance. In firm array
We’ll rush o’er Albion’s sands—
Till the red sabre marks our way
Amid their yielding bands!
Then as they lie in death’s cold grasp,
We’ll cry, “Our choice is made!
These hands the sabre’s hilt shall clasp,
Your hearts shall feel the blade”.
Thus Britons guard their ancient fame,
Assert their empire o’er the sea,
And to the envying world proclaim,
One nation still is brave and free—
Resolv’d to conquer or to die,
True to their King, their Laws, their Liberty:
No barb’rous foe finds here an easy prey—
Un-ransom’d England spurns all foreign sway.[25]

The following poem has been transmitted to us, without preface or introduction, by a gentleman of the name of Ireland.[26] We apprehend from the peculiarities of the style, that it must be the production of a remote period. We are likewise inclined to imagine, that it may contain allusions to some former event in English history. What that event may have been, we must submit to the better judgment and superior information of our readers, from whom we impatiently expect a solution of this interesting question. The editor has been influenced solely by a sense of its poetical merit.

[Ja’far son of ’Ulbah, of the Banu-l-HÂrith.

The Poet, with two companions, went forth to plunder the herds of ’Ukail, a neighbour-tribe, and was beset on his way back by detached parties of that tribe in the valley of Sahbal, whom he overcame and reached home safely.

That even when under Sahbal’s twin peaks upon us drave
the horsemen troop after troop, and the foemen pressed us sore—
They said to us—“Two things lie before you: now must ye choose—
the points of the spears couched at you, or, if ye will not, chains”.
We answered them—“Yea, this thing may fall to you after fight,
when men shall be left on ground, and none shall arise again;
But we know not, if we quail before the assault of Death,
how much may be left of life: the goal is too dim to see”.
We strode to the strait of battle: there cleared us a space around
the white swords in our right hands which the smiths had furbished fair.
To them fell the edge of my blade on that day of Sahbal dale,
and mine was the share thereof whereover my fingers closed.
Ed.]

THE DUKE AND THE TAXING-MAN.[27]

Whilome there liv’d in fair Englonde
A Duke of peerless wealth,
And mickle care he took of her
Old Constitution’s health.
Full fifty thousand pounds and more
To him his vassals paid,
But ne to King, ne Countree, he
Would yield th’ assessment made.
The taxing-man, with grim visÁge
Came pricking on the way;
The taxing-man, with wrothful words,
Thus to the Duke did say:
“Lord Duke, Lord Duke, thou’st hid from me,
As sure as I’m alive,
Of goodly palfreys seventeen,
Of varlets twenty-five”.
Then out he drew his gray goose quill,
Ydipp’d in ink so black,
And sorely to SURCHARGE the Duke,
I trowe, he was ne slack.
Then ’gan the Duke to looken pale,
And stared as one astound,
Twaie coneynge Clerks[28] eftsoons he spies
Sitting their board around.
“O woe is me,” then cried the Duke,
“Ne mortal wight but errs!
I’ll hie to yon twaie coneynge Clerks,
Yclept Commissioners.”
The Duke he hied him to the board,
And straight ’gan for to say,
“A seely[29] wight I am, God wot,
Ne ken I the right way.
“These varlets twenty-five were ne’er
Liveried in white and red;
Withouten this, what signifie
Wages, and board, and bed?
“And by St. George, that stout horseman,
My palfreys seventeen,
For two years, or perchance for three,
I had forgotten clean.”
“Naie,” quoth the Clerk, “both horse and foot
To hide was thine intent,
Ne seely wight be ye, but didst
With good advisament.[30]
“Surcharge, surcharge, good Taxing-man,
Anon our seals we fix,
Of sterling pounds, Lord Duke, you pay
Three hundred thirty-six.”[31]

EPIGRAM ON THE PARIS LOAN,[32]
CALLED
THE LOAN UPON ENGLAND.

The Paris cits, a patriotic band,
Advance their cash on British freehold land.
But let the speculating rogues beware—
They’ve bought the skin, but who’s to kill the bear?
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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