02 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 



" The tears that streamed from her eyes rendered her voice almost in- 

 audible, but this was still more effectually drowned by a voice behind her 

 back, which exclaimed, with a hollow and solemn tone 'Yes! indeed, 

 and in truth, this is a holy person, and her prayer ascends as frank- 

 incense/ Astonished, the Margravine looked around her, and an in- 

 stantaneous glow overspread her pale cheeks as she met the gaze of 

 Leodegar, who, with outstretched arms and uplifted hands, advanced 

 into the Chapel from the door of one of the four rooms. 



*' Overcome with rage, astonishment, and shame, she stood speechless 

 and immoveable. Leodegar, in a fit of enthusiasm, threw himself at her 

 feet, kissed the hem of her garment, and continued thus : ' Blessed 

 be thou, who walkest with the Angels ! Blessed be thou, anointed 

 and crowned penitent, who art striving for the fairest crown of the 

 Saviour ! ' " and so on, with a strange mingling of human passion and 

 religious enthusiasm, which, occurring where it does, becomes '"utterly 

 foolish and improbable. 



There are a number of vigorous descriptive passages in the volume, 

 and some eloquent writing; but, as a romance, it is wanting in the 

 elements of interest and of popularity. 



Harold de Burun. A Semi-Dramatic Poem ; in Six Scenes. By 

 H. A. DRIVER, author of the " Arabs," a Poem. Longmans, 

 London. 



If our opinion as to the moral and intellectual character of Byron, to 

 whom this poem relates, differs from that of Mr. Driver, it does not pre- 

 vent us acknowledging that he displays poetic powers of no mean order : 

 indeed, there are many passages in the volume of great beauty ; and if 

 the whole had been a little better sustained, the poem would have ranked 

 high above most of its cotemporaries. 



*' The especial object of the undertaking," says the Author, " has been 

 to develope what I conceive to be the true character of Byron, and to 

 dispel, as far as might be within my possibility, that fantastical one which 

 has shown itself amidst the magnifying haze of popular credulity/' The 

 object is a noble though a hopeless one ; but it has given Mr. Driver an 

 opportunity for writing a fine, an original, and a powerful poem. We 

 can make room only for one extract, and with it we cordially recommend 

 the work : 



" Bless'd be their rosy smiles 

 And dimpled cheeks ! Their little urchin tongues 

 Sound with a sweet recalling silverness, 

 Like tuneful bells, that chime of other days. 

 If we in aught bear likeness to our Maker, 

 Surely 'tis most in infancy ! for innocence 

 Must be the chief resemblance. 



Ethereal hearts ! 



I love them from the hour they climb the knee 

 Their first ambition happy if the worst ! 

 Theirs is the thrill that I can feel no more, 

 Knowing too much the genial spring is theirs, 

 Whose buds are worth a thousand full-blown joys/' 



