XXXVI. MOCK-HEROIC POETRY. JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE. LONG before "Beppo," the experiment of imitating the wellknown Italian school, which unites so strangely the wildest romance of chivalry with pungent satire and good-humored pleasantry, had been successfully tried by John Hookham Frere, one of Mr. Canning's most brilliant coadjutors in the poetry of the "Anti-Jacobin." The mock-heroic in question bore the curious title of " Prospectus and Specimen of an intended National Work, by William and Robert Whistlecroft, of Stowmarket, in Suffolk, Harness and Collar Makers. Intended to comprise the most Interesting Particulars relating to King Arthur and his Round-Table." Two cantos were published by Mr. Murray in 1817; and a third and fourth rapidly followed. The success was decided; but the poem has been long out of print, and is now among the scarcest books in modern literature. To attempt to tell the story of a poem which travels backward and forward from knights to giants, and from giants to monks, no sooner interesting you in one set of personages than he casts them off to fly to other scenes and other actors, would be a fruitless task. Who would venture to trace the adventures of the Orlando Furioso? and Mr. Frere, in imitating the "Morgante Maggiore," and other parodies of the great poet of romance, has won for himself the privilege of wandering at pleasure over the whole realm of chivalrous fable, and makes the best use of that privilege by being often picturesque, often amusing, and never wearisome. The poem opens with a feast given by King Arthur at Carlisle to his knights, who are thus described: They looked a manly, generous generation, Beards, shoulders, eyebrows, broad and square and thick; Their eyes and gestures eager, sharp and quick, They were so very courteous and well-bred. Then come the giants, living in a valley near Carlisle. The description of this place affords an excellent opportunity for displaying Mr. Frere's command over a higher order of poetry. Huge mountains of immeasurable height A rock was in the center, like a cone Huge, rugged and compact in every part. A wild tumultuous torrent raged around Of fragments tumbling from the mountain's height; Till the last point of their ascent was won. The giants who dwelt in this romantic spot had captured some ladies, whom the knights thought it their duty to deliver. They overcame the grisly warriors as a matter of course, and the state in which they find the fair prisoners is related in a stanza of which the concluding couplet bears some resemblance to a wellknown transition in "Don Juan." The ladies! They were tolerably well, At least as well as could be well expected: Many details I must forbear to tell. Their toilet had been very much neglected; In the third book, according to the universal practice of the Italian poets, the story takes a backward leap, and recounts a previous feud between the giants and the inhabitants of a neighboring monastery. A certain monk, Brother John by name, who had gone out alone to fish in a stream near the Abbey, is luckily enabled to give notice to the brethren of the approach of their enemies. The scene of his sport is finely described. A mighty current, unconfined and free, Ran wheedling round beneath the mountain's shade, Each flower and herb, and every cloud of heaven. Anon the fitful breezes brood and hover Spreading, withdrawing pausing, passing over, So rest and motion in a narrow range Feasted the sight with joyous interchange. A stout resistance is made by the monks, and the giants at length withdraw from the scene of action: And now the gates are opened, and the throng Here Roundle back and here Phigander lay." They view the deep indentures, broad and round, Huge, wide apart, with half a dozen toes; They track them on, till they converge and meet (An earnest and assurance of repose) Close at the ford. The cause of this retreat To reliques, rosaries, and holy water; To beads and psalms, and feats of arms;-in short In the last volume of Mr. Lockhart's "Life of Sir Walter Scott," there is a very interesting account of the delight which the great minstrel took to the last in Mr. Frere's spirited versions of the old Spanish ballads. "In speaking of Mr. Frere's translations he repeated a pretty long passage from his version of one of the romances of the Cid (published in the Appendix to Southey's Quarto), and seemed to enjoy a spirited charge of the knights therein described, as much as he could have done in his best days; placing his walking-stick in rest like a lance, to suit the action to the word."—Extract from Mrs. John Davy's Journal of Sir Walter Scott's residence in Malton. The following is the passage referred to: The gates were then thrown open, and forth at once they rushed, Let not a man move from his rank before I give the sign." Had not his armor been so true, he had lost either life or limb; Their lances in the rest leveled fair and low, Their heads all stooping down toward the saddle-bow. You might see them raise their lances, and level them again, There you might see the breastplates, how they were cleft in twain, 66 Mr. Frere's familiarity with Spanish literature probably took its rise from his employment in various diplomatic missions during the Peninsular war; but his great achievement as a translator is of a far higher and more difficult order. The following specimen of his version of The Frogs" of Aristophanes will show how complete he has contrived to naturalize the wit and humor of the old Athenian dramatist. The passage about "full and equal franchise" might pass for a translation from half a dozen modern languages at the present hour: RANE. Chorus. Muse, attend our solemn summons, An enormous mass of wit, -Full of genius, taste and fire, Jealous pride and critic ire- (Like the swallow from her nest, Chatters loud and will be heard, (With the accent and the grace Which he brought with him from Thrace) But we fear the tuneful strain Must be turned to grief and pain; He must sing a dirge perforce When his trial takes its course; |