row’s weeds.” 
1825.] 
a rainbow that ‘‘ sits serene upon the 
watery gulph” “in native-coloured smiles ;” 
in Stanza LV,, the “ elemental wall’’ of a 
cataract “rearing its stupendous height”’ 
[other) cataracts only fall; but this rears 
itself up. again, it. seems!] and rolling its 
echoes “twice nine score furlongs round,’’ 
calls Judah’s deliverance “‘ back to remem- 
brarice from the Egyptian thrall :” in Stanza 
V., with 
peat : « The willow, 
In graceful weepings, and the aloe rude, 
Spread his wide branches o'er the sweeping billow, 
While tender shrubs reclined npon their mossy pil- 
low.” 
In Stanza VI., with “ nature weaving high 
fantastic roots beneath a gloom, to grasp 
with firmer clench ;”’ and, in Stanza VII., 
‘© azure-tinted mountains like hills of bright 
eternal snow,’ and a “ gleam of setti 
sun that fain would shew their brows. the~ 
prop of heaven;” and, in the very next,. 
these same ‘stupendous barriers!’ that 
are at once sky-tinted, and as white as 
eternal snow, with a ‘cloud-wrapt bo- 
som,” has its “head in central heaven,” 
and ‘fans the skies with its waving 
woods.” Stupendous barriers! zs, or are, 
however, informed, that he, or they, or 
they he, is not to be adored, for that God 
Almighty is above him. 
** Stupendous barriers ! when we lift our eyes 
Toscan thy cloud-wrapt bosom from the plain, 
Thy head in central heaven, and the skies 
Fann‘d by thy waving woods, and turn again 
To view our pigmy stature, we would fain 
Adore thy majesty ; but there is one, 
Even thy Maker, in the heart must reign.” 
And then, as we proceed, “ seraphs strike 
the tone on harps celestial,” and ‘‘ man” 
(not woman) “ waits for the bridegroom’s 
hour,” and the “gate of Heaven,” and 
the “ portal of Hell ope the eternal way,” 
and we “ trim a bluey lamp,’”’ and “ grim 
war purloins peace enshrined in a bosom,” 
and ‘ Fate, unkind, tears’? Mr. Campbell’s 
poor Gertrude ‘asunder;’’ and “ Christ’ 
is called upon to “pour celestial oil into 
the poet’s smart,” and to “ wipe his eye 
of dire bereavement’s tear.” Anon, we 
have an “ acheless heart’ that “a dear 
partner shared, 
‘© )"""’And blended with his smile or sigh; 
Save for the other each was never cared, 
And, Heaven the guide, their joys were mutually 
Him fared.” 
PER we have “ bright affections bow 
‘cireling the temples” with “ tears of kind- 
ess sparkling in it ;”” and “ earth-affection 
se”— to damp love’s flame with sor- 
Then Love is told that he 
“* fell with Adam to rise no more ;”” but 
‘that, before this unluckly tumbling down, 
{ 
was “ the brightest gem which Heav’n’s 
it Sire wore eesti) gi crown ;”” 
at his. gladd’ning fire lighten’d those 
SW ere, they need no sun.’’—An 
ray ‘by the way, for which the author 
Monthly Review of Literature. 
443 
seems indebted, though without acknow- 
ledgment, to the Irishman’s song in Col- 
lins’s Brush :—one of those “ ideas of 
others,’’ perhaps alluded to in his preface, 
which an author finds it so difficult “ to 
separate from his own ;”’ 
** O, long life to the moon for a brave noble creature, 
That serves us with lamp-light each night in the 
dark, : 
While the sun only lights us by day, which by nature 
Needs no light at all, as you all may remark.” 
This Love, however, which had fallen to 
rise no more, finds a spot, at last, on which 
he can alight—“ a plain 
Already blooming with the richest grove, 
'Twas there thy form alighted, and the garland 
wove.” 
Wonderful ‘‘ garland!’’ 
€ That lives, with rural smile, 
In careless beauty o’er each native bower ;”" 
while “the matin hour sips dew from it 
to scent its balmy breath.” 
*¢ Such was this air :—unsullied by the heat 
Of atoo scorching sun—uncloge’d by damp 
Of baneful nightly fog, save where the peat 
Beneath the lake adown the meadow's swamp 
Is moisten'd by the dew—no phantom lamp 
Cheats the benighted trav’ller ; -but the star, 
Which shines alike upon the tented camp 
And o'er the sea’s glad waters, beams from far 
A fia’d, unsullied light, in its Olympic car.” 
Some of our readers may perhaps ima- 
gine, that if the unsullied light of the star 
is really so fixed, it has very little occasion 
either for an Olympic, or any other car. Such, 
however, being the century of beauties col- 
lected from these nineteen stanzas, we 
should presume that our readers have as 
little desire as we have that we should con- 
duct them, with like industrious gleaning, 
through the remaining two hundred and 
ninety-five. d 
It may be said, perhaps, that this is 
“breaking a butterfly upon the wheel !” 
—but really, if a butterfly happen to be 
so enormously out of proportion, as to 
spread his wings over fifteen-whole sheets 
of demy, one may sometimes be excused 
for throwing a hat at him. Besides, 
to say the truth, we are not quite sure, 
that, under all this mass of glittering tinsel, 
and of gilt ginger-bread—these giblets of 
metaphors, and this hash of false concords, 
there is not something of the spirit of 
poetry obscured and smothered up; which— 
if the author could but once shake off the 
incubus of affectation, learn to remember 
that poetry must never lose sight of com- 
mon sense,—that metaphors must be cohe- 
rent pictures ;—and, above all, should give 
himself up for two or three years to the 
study of the English language, of which at 
present, he has but a most lamentably con- 
fused conception,—he might hereafter make 
manifest in the production of something 
better. i gO 
We have, also, another reason, for hav- 
ing dwelt so long upon the ultra-poetical 
Le absurdities 
