418 
A waveless sea of azure, still as sleep ; 
Full in her dreamy light, the moon presides, 
Shrin'd in a halo, mellowing as she rides; 
And far around, the forest and the stream, 
Bathe in the beauty of her emerald beam, &e. 
One dip more—and a fine dip it is, we 
see— 
Imagination! furl thy wings of fire, 
And on Eternity’s dread brink expire ; 
Vain would thy ved and raging eye behold 
Visions of immortality unroll’d! 
The last, the fiery chaos hath begun, 
Quench'd is the moon! and blacken’d is the sun! 
The stars have bounded through the airy roar ; 
Crush’d lie the rocks, and mountains are no more; 
The deep unbosom’d, with tremendous gloom, 
Yawns on the ruin, like Creation’s tomb! &c. 
No ! it’s past all toleration. 
The Puffied ; 1828.—This is another of the 
same Mr. Montgomery—a poem of the satiric 
cast—a bolt forged in the fires of a generous 
indignation, and hurled at poor Mr. Col- 
burn, as the prince of puffers, and first cor- 
rupter (God wot !) of the simplicity of the 
age. The versification is full of storm and 
fury—signifying nothing—for over-doing is 
as fatal in defeating an object as under- 
doing. The whole is manifestly prompted 
by passion and thirst of vengeance. Mr. 
C. refused to buy it may be presumed—for 
as to any real repugnancy to puffing, the 
author has, unhappily for him, furnished 
abundant proof he has none—nay, has 
shewn no common proficiency in the art he 
undertakes toshewup. Set a thief to catch 
a thief. The very title of his “ Omnipre- 
sence”—the dedication to the Bishop of 
London—the palming it upon the Mont- 
gomery—at least the side-attempt to ride 
into popularity upon his shoulders — the 
puffs of the papers, direct and indirect—the 
choice morceaus of eulogy tacked to adver- 
tisements, &c. &c.—decisive. 
Lyric Offerings, by S. Laman Blan- 
chard ; 1828.—An unassuming little vo- 
lume, which contrasts delightfully with the 
magniloquent nothingness of Mr. R. Mont- 
gomery’s elaborations. Mr. B. has some- 
thing of the genuine poet.in him—more 
indications of it in a single page, indeed, 
than will be found in fifty of the other’s. 
His language is as rich and affluent, with 
the added beauties of ease and variety—and 
unindebted for it, comparatively, to any pre- 
cursors. The phrases are not all of the 
ready cut and dry manufacture—but a coin- 
age fresh from the mint of his own brain, 
and the dye often of a very graceful cha- 
racter — expressive, appropriate, direct.— 
Though fanciful and somewhat wayward, 
the sentiments have an air of truth 
and nature with them — congruous at 
least —betraying no forcings and _lash- 
ings of the imagination. The ease and 
even volubility with which he pours forth 
his feelings, shew the author rests with con- 
fidence in his own resources, and draws on 
them without dreading, or even dreaming 
Monthly Review of Literature, 
[Ocr. 
of exhaustion. The “ Poet’s Bride” has 
some very beautiful morsels— 
O’er the sands she stray’d 
Mute as a wish within a human breast ; 
And ever where her step its footmark made 
Some wave did woo its faintness into rest. 
Her eyes had many shadows, as each dye 
Each tinge of thought dissolved into its sky. 
Their lids encircled with small beams of gold 
Were silver clouds; and shewed the sun behind, 
A world of deepening blue—that chased the cold 
Left on her temples by some wandering wind ; 
Feeding with light, or sending fitful showers 
To wash her warm cheek’s fondest passion— 
flowers. 
Her lips released the music which the lute 
Of her soft tongue discoursed ;—or if ’twas mute, 
A living whisper, a perpetual breath, 
Almost a sigh, did on her lips remain; 
As if *twould rather linger in such death 
Than fly to life where tender breathings reign. 
O'er the transparent clearness of her brow 
Her hair, like a fine waterfall, waved down, 
Bathing the pliant marble of her neck ; 
Whose native light streamed through without a 
speck, 
Now flashing out in snowiness, and now 
Hiding its glory in a ringlet’s crown, 
Around his heart she hovered like a bird, 
Secure of its firm nest: his faintest word, 
Called sudden light into her love-taught eyes, 
And bound her in a chain of eestacies. 
She sent rich-laden sighs from out her soul, 
And caus’d fair smiles and dew-like tears to sit 
Tn his heart’s honeysuckles ; or on the scroll 
Of the vast shore his haunting image traced, 
And wept to see the waters razing it, 
Qr harp’d some magic words of love misplaced, 
Then clung in sweet conviction to her own, 
Breathing her winged wishes through her eyes 
That trembled as they flew. 
They were united where no human ear 
Drank their deep vow, and where no human gaze 
Startled their still intensity of praise ; 
Where feet, save theirs, ne’er wander’d, nor huge 
piles 
Of turrets and tall porticoes appear, 
Wild nature mocking with smooth symmetry. 
The clouds in maiden meekness fled the smiles 
Of their bright loves, blushing into eve. : 
And all the living verdure grows so well, 
No soft small worm hath life amid its roots ; 
And through the air no sound unechoed shoots, 
And not a leaf but whose light curl can tell 
Of waters playiog on their coral flutes: 
No sigh or sorrow, or heart-heard farewell, 
Or sharper wail when worldly promise fell— 
Leaving the heart to break, or find its fruits 
Black with a deadly bloom—to feel its fame 
But folly, disappointment, and dumb shame. 
Here nothing liv’d that own'd an earthly law— 
Sincerity and fearlessness were by ; 
And each seem’d kindred to the scenes it saw 
Break on its separate nature, from an eye . 
Which guiltless oped at morn, and closed as mer- 
rily. 
Manual of Surgery, by Thomas Casile ; 
1828.—This little volume, every page of 
