1830.] Mr. Edward Clarkson. 215. 



A dying pause, as if th' Almighty moved 

 In shadow o'er his works, hath solemnized 

 The world." 



We have no fault to find with this passage but its utter want of pro- 

 priety. It is the description not of a lofty mind diseased, an ambitious 

 spirit fallen; but of a happy and religious pensive nature, with no cares 

 to vex, no undying reflections to divert its attention from the beauties of 

 creation. Lord Byron, adopting the received ideas of Satan, says of him, 

 " where'er he gazed a gloom pervaded space." This is finely character- 

 istic of a fallen spirit. Mr. Montgomery, however, seems to think 

 otherwise, and determined to be original in his conceptions, makes his 

 damon gaze round him not for the purpose of deepening nature's gloom, 

 but of drawing forth her beauties and painting their minutiae in water- 

 colours. And this he terms giving a new reading to Satan ! As if the 

 Prince of Hell's archangels ; the dauntless Fiend who drew after him the 

 third of heaven's seraphim ; who stood boldly face to face with the 

 Son of the Godhead, and defied the Omnipotent himself to arms as if 

 such a spirit, so sublime in daring, so matchless in iniquity ; so absorbed 

 in the recollection of his past glory, and the consciousness of his present 

 degradation ; so towering in his ambition, so inexhaustible in his con- 

 ception; so scheming, subtle, malignant, and comprehensive, as if such 

 a magnificent spirit could find leisure or inclination to divert the channel 

 of his mighty thoughts, in order to describe the details of a small sylvan 

 landscape in the puny dialect of a pastoral poet ! 



But not in one portion only, in every particular of his character, no 

 matter how slight or unimportant, Mr. Montgomery has mistaken Satan. 

 He has made him speak of Napoleon and Lord Byron in the language 

 of the conventicle ; lament the sins of the press in the spirit of a Whig 

 attorney-general, and anathematize the theatre and the ball-room with a 

 fanatic heartiness that Mr. Irving himself must despair to equal. As a 

 metaphysician, Satan is equally ridiculous. He talks of " learning" as 

 as a " shallow excellence," as if he were altogether unacquainted with 

 the difference between learning and pedantry. In the minor defects of 

 language and description, the poem abounds to profusion. There is 

 scarcely one page in a volume consisting of 386, that does not contain 

 some absurd metaphor some tawdry epithet, some new-coined phrase, 

 or some palpable grammatical blunder. Poor Priscian is sadly treated 

 throughout : not a bone in his skull is left unbroken. We have con- 

 tinually for instance such ungrammatical expressions as, 



" Is the earth 



Appalled, or agonizing in the wrack 

 Of elements ?" 



" And oh ! ye soft-lipped dealers in applause, 

 Resound the dews of mercy as they fall, 

 To crown him famous, Charity's own child ; 

 And why ? she pays a penalty for sin, 

 And bribes the conscience, while it gilds a name" 



et What fancy-shipwreck overwhelms the soul? 

 What billows ever rocking in the brain ?" 



" The One did glance the blue immensity 

 Above with a majestic gaze" 



