152 SECRET MEMORANDUMS. 



many very fine and very indifferent passages, so it just suited my 

 many-coloured hand. My first notice appeared in the " Capital 

 Commodore," and was thus couched : 



THE RISE OF LIBERTY, a Poem. By W. F. Wimble, Esq. 



" The author of the ' Rise of Liberty' is a poet whose appearance 

 in the galaxy of our literature will be hailed by many with shouts of 

 welcome. Many of his sentiments are noble and first-rate, and the 

 images by which he illustrates them ' float by in gallant trim ;' but 

 we cannot say we always admire the under-current that is very visible 

 to the eye of imagination. We dislike all that tends to violent inno- 

 vation and consequent anarchy, as much as we scorn and deprecate 

 the perpetuation of abuses. Strong imagination, fine moral thoughts, 

 deepening at times into metaphysics, are not all that we find in 

 Mr. Wimble's poem: it has also a thorough-going, uncompromising, 

 and sometimes headlong political, as well as poetical, animus. On 

 the subject of liberty, he is often fierce, rampant, fugacious, and 

 enflamme. We are occasionally startled by bursts of eloquence, 

 mingled with certain ebullient corruscations of wit, that would make 

 us pronounce him to be an Irishman only that his name is against 

 it. His allusion to foreign scenery, manners, customs, &c., whether 

 allied to, or, as is often the case, remote from, his subject, are vividly 

 graphic and true to nature. 



" We consider the following as one of his best stanzas : 



" ' The lark ambitious from his clover bed, 



Soon as the morning star hath waned away 



Before Aurora's cheek of lambent red, 

 Towers to salute the fresh-created day ; 



And strives to pierce the crystal dome afar, 



E'en to the altitude of that gone star !' 



" We have only room for one more extract at present ; but the 

 poem contains many of a very superior order. He is still alluding 

 to the lark. 



" ' So doth the rising 1 hope of Liberty 



Thrill in man's bosom, like that glorious bird's ; 

 Our souls take wing into the distant sky, 



High o'er the tyrants and their slavish herds ; 

 Our hearts are fixed upon its star sublime, 

 Whose influence sheds fresh youth on aged Time.' 



" If our readers feel the same sympathy that we have experienced 

 with the above, let them turn to Mr. Wimble's little volume, and 

 they will find themselves repaid. The book, like all other ' things 

 human,' has its faults; but we wish the poet every success for the 

 sake of its merits." 



My next critique appeared in the Enbrugh Brazenface, and I sin- 

 cerely hope I may not be d d to all posterity for writing it. 



" THE RISE OF LUBBERLY, a Poem ! 



" When a misbegotten, half-witted, unfledged dunghill cock fan- 

 cying the fiery-eyed, ruby-crested, spirit of the morning, Chanticleer, 

 has strode off for a while across the sunny meads, accompanied by his 

 feathered seraglio comes with an impudent strut into the farm- yard, 



