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MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 



NEW POEMS. 



IP, as many say, the time for poetry is past, what must become 

 of all those poems which are weekly poured forth ? Surely, they 

 cannot all be allowed to slumber peaceably upon the publisher's 

 shelves, resting in obscurity unsold, unread ; although we fail to dis- 

 cover another Childe Harolde amongst them, yet they are not all trash. 

 This may justly be called a printing age. Book follows book in 

 quick succession ; as bubble follows bubble down the stream, they 

 are pointed at in their rapid passage as things great, wonderful, and 

 superior ; and scarcely has the eye rested upon them, before they are 

 gone, and others are seen in their places " another and another still 

 succeeds !" Surely, our descendants will pick up something out of the 

 multitudinous works which the present enlightened age has been 

 pleased to cast aside. Some Milton, " mute and inglorious," in this 

 age may find immortality in the next. Heraud and Satan Mont- 

 gomery may have their turn. But why interrogate the crowd ? 

 Why do poets write, knowing that the world will no longer read ? 

 We will let one of the authors,* whose works we are about intro- 

 ducing, answer that question in his own beautiful language : 



" Why doth the fairy swallow play 

 Unwearied on his wings all day, 

 To chase along the halmy air 

 The bright and golden insects rare, 

 And not descend the worms to gather, 



Like birds of earthly feather ? 

 Because that Being, who guides the flight 

 Of comets on their voyage of night, 

 Unto that bird the wing hath given 



That never tires of heaven !" 



True it is, that poetry is undergoing a great change. The giants 

 of genius have but just strode from the stage, and the descending 

 curtain will soon hide the forms of the yet " mighty living." Byron, 

 Scott, Crabbe; Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats, are no more; and 

 Wordsworth, Wilson, Hogg, Moore, and Cunningham are fast falling 

 into the ' ' yellow leaf." Who will fill their places ? 



We have been pleased with a perusal of "The Ocean Bride;" 

 it is a poem well worth reading there is about it an interest, not 

 common in the present day. Some of the descriptive passages will 

 stand comparing with those of our first-rate poets ; and there is also 

 an air of originality in its plan. Long poems cannot be well de- 

 scribed unless copious extracts are made, and the narrative is fol- 

 lowed up by subjoining remarks. This we are sorry our limits will 

 not allow. We shall, however, present our readers with an extract, 



* " The Ocean Bride." By S. M. Milton. Tait, Edinburgh ; Simpkin and 

 Marshal, London. 



