114 
the writer of a detiberate design against 
the religion and government of the 
country. His lordship has himself, in 
the fourth canto, given what appears 
to us a very candid exposition of his 
motives— 
Some have aceus’d me of a strange desizn 
Against the ereed and morals of the laud, 
nd trace it in this: poem ey’ry Tine: 
z don’t pretend that # quite understand 
yew meaning when I would be very fine; 
Unit rut the fact is, that I have nothing plann’d, 
Mess itwas to be a moment merry,— 
A novel word in my vocabulary. 
Indeed the whole poem bas com- 
pleiely the appearance of being pro- 
duced in those intervals in which an 
active and powerful mind, habitually 
engaged in literary occupation, re- 
laxes from its more serious labours, 
and amuses itself with comparative 
trifling. Hence the narration is inter- 
rupted by continual digressions, and 
the general character of the language 
is that of irony and sarcastic hwmour; 
an apparent levity, which however 
often serves but as a veil to deep re- 
flection. Nor can the talent of the 
master-hand be always concealed; it 
involuntarily betrays itselfy in the 
touches of the pathetic and sublime 
which frequently present themselves 
in the course of the poem; in the 
thoughts, ‘too big for utterance, and 
too deep for tears,” which are inter- 
spersed in various parts of it. The 
three cantos just published, if we 
except some parts of the assault of 
Ismail, eontain a considerably less 
proportion of the higher class of poe- 
try, than was to be found in those 
which preceded them. We can dis- 
cover nothing equal to the going down 
of the vessel in which Juan sailed, the 
mournful end of Haidée, the ode of 
the Greek laureate, or the exquisite, 
though somewhat highly-coloured, de- 
Scription of the interview between 
Juan aud Julia. But in the keen and 
pervading satire, the bitter and biting 
irony, which constitute the peculiar 
forte of Lord Byron, we perceive no 
falling off in the present cantos. Nor 
are they deficient in that vein of play- 
ful humour, and that felicitous transi- 
tion ‘‘ from grave to gay, from lively 
to severe,” so conspicuous in their 
predecessors. ‘The execution, on the 
whole, we think quite equal to that 
displayed in the earlier parts of the 
poem, though the generality of readers 
will, we suspect, be of opinion, that 
there is a falling off in the way of 
amusement. We proceed to give a 
few extracts from the present conti- 
News from Parnassus, No. XXII. 
[Sept. 1, 
‘nuation, though the length to which 
this article has already extended must 
necessarily render them very limited. 
‘The: following distinction between 
real and assumed Jove in a female is 
equally original and beautiful :— 
A Ores blush, a soft tremor, a calm kind 
Of gentle feminine delight, and shown 
More in the eye-lids tran the eyes, resign’d 
. Rather to hide what pleases most gakpown, 
Are the best tokens (to a modest mind, ) 
_Of love, when seated on his loveliest throne, 
A sineere woman’s breast,—for over warm, 
Or over cold, annihilates the charm, 
There is an admirably characteristic 
description of Potemkin, the notorious 
paramour of the profligate Czarina, 
who dispatched Suwarrow to the 
command of the besieging army before 
Ismail, with instructions to take the 
fortress at any price,—an order that 
was indeed literally complied with. 
A portrait is also given of that eccen- 
tric and celebrated general, which 
rivals the preceding one. We have 
only room for the satter :— 
Suwarrow chiefly was on the alert, 4 
Surveying, drilling, ordering; jesting, pon- 
ering,— i 
For the ae was, Wwe safely may asserf, 
A thing to wouder at beyond most wondering ; 
Hero, buffoon, half demon, and half dirt,— : 
Praying, instructing, desolating, plundering ; 
Now Mars, now Momus, and, when bent to storm 
A fortress, Harlequin in uniform. 
The nightly preparations for attack, 
previous to storming the fortress, are 
thus powerfully told— 
Hark! through the silence of the cold dull night, 
The bum of armies, gathering rank on rank! 
Lo, dusky masses steal in dubiors sight, 
Along the leaguer’d wall and bristling bank 
Of the arm’d river, while, with straggling light, 
The star peep through the vapours dim ant 
dank 
Which curl ih curious wreaths.—How soon the 
smoke 
Of hell shall pale them In a deeper cloak! 
The last canto abounds with sub- 
lime passages; but we select the 
following stanza in preference, on 
account of the terrific grandeur of its 
conclusion :— 
The night was dark, and the thick mist allow’d 
Nought to be seen save the artillery’s flame, 
Which arch’d the horizon like a fiery cloud, 
And in the Danube’s waters shone the same, 
A mirror’d hell !. The volleying roar, and loud 
Loug booming of each peal on peal, o’ercame 
The ear far more than thunder; for Heaven’s 
Slashes > 
Spare, or smite rarely,—Man’s make miilions 
ashes! ) 
We regret that we cannot insert the 
beautiful picture of Galleyaz’ distress 
and agitation, as well as the interest- 
ing incidents of the desperate resis- 
tance of the gallant Tartar and his 
five sons, and the rescuing of the in- 
fant by Juan; but we must unwillingly 
content ourselves with the preceding 
specimens, which howeyer amply 
prove the undiminished. power of the 
poet; 
