For these and other writings, Arriaza received the thanks of the Regency in the name of the king, and had just cause to consider that a sufficient counterbalance to the misrepresentations made of his conduct in France, and elsewhere, by the opposite party. In a note affixed to the last edition of his poems, he complains that in a work published in France, ‘Biography of Contemporary Characters,’ there was an article respecting him “full of errors, even regarding the most public circumstances of his life,” which he seems to have considered written from party feeling. If his surmises were correct, it is the more to be regretted that he did not take the best means of correcting those misrepresentations, by giving an authentic biographical account of his career in reply. He might thus not only have done justice to himself, but also have satisfied the desires of his admirers, who would naturally have felt sufficient interest in his fame to have rejoiced in those details. Whatever may be the course which a man of genius takes in public life from honest principles, he may always rely on finding in literature a neutral harbour where he may retire in confidence from all turmoils, and expect full justice awarded to his motives and memory. In the midst of political contentions, where so much always depends on circumstances with which we are little acquainted, it is often difficult at the time to know what is the proper course to follow. It is enough for us that those we admire have ever been distinguished for their sincerity and uprightness in the conduct they pursued. With regard to Arriaza, our greatest regret must be that, with his apparently extreme facility of versification, and capability of elevating his mind to the conception of nobler subjects, he confined his genius so much to trivial events of the day, and thus wrote for his contemporaries instead of for posterity. JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. TEMPEST AND WAR, OR THE BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR. ODE. I fain would sing of victory; But know, the God of harmony, Dispenser of renown, For fortune’s turn has little care, And bids superior valour bear, Alone, the immortal crown. See in his temple, shining yet, Those at Thermopylæ who set Of manly fortitude Examples rare, or ’neath thy wall Who, sad Numantia, shared thy fall, But falling unsubdued. There are to whom has fate bestow’d The lot, that always on the road Of docile laurels borne, Success should fly their steps before, And in their hands events in store Should lose each cruel thorn. As heroes these the vulgar choose, If not as gods, but I refuse Such homage for the mind; And in Bellona’s doubtful strife, Where fortune’s angry frowns are rife, There heroes seek to find.