556 
sesses much grandeur of imagery, and 
poetic description, but from the recon- 
dite nature of the subject, it is little fitted 
to interest any reader, and from the defi- 
ciency of notes, will probably be unin- 
telligible to many. We must beg to sug- 
got with submission to Mr. M’s deep 
nowledge on the subject, an incongruity 
in enumerating the planets by their Gre- 
cian names of Jupiter, Mars, &c. whilst 
the sun and moon are designated by 
their Persian appellations of Mithra and 
Astarte. We cannot bnt enter our 
protest against the presumption of our 
author, in admitting one of his school- 
boy exercises, though sanctioned by the 
POETRY. 
applause of Dr. Johnson, antorig « Select 
Poems,”’ published at a mature age: 
The other pieces of this volume, which 
are trifles, and not very pleasing onesy 
we shall pass over in silence. 
On the whole we may observe, that — 
the poetic talents of Mr. M. are more 
adapted to delight the fancy, than to 
touch the heart; on which account he 
will do well to employ himself on the 
splendid and novel topics afforded by 
Asiatic literature, rather than on domes- 
tic subjects of deeper interest, which res 
quire pathos, simplicity, nature—the 
heart as well as the head of a poet. 
Art. IX. Poems, by S.T.Coreripce. Third Edition, 12mox pp. 202. 
THE character of Mr. Coleridge, as a 
poet, is so well known, and his merit so 
fully acknowledged, that nothing more 
can be expected of us on announcing the 
third edition of his poems, than a few re- 
marks suggested by comparison with the 
last. The diminished bulk of the vo- 
lume, caused by the omission of the works 
of Messrs. Lloyd and Lamb, instantly 
excited our warmest approbation, parti- 
cularly as we were inclined to consider 
it as an evidence of the ripened taste and 
improved discernment of our author. In 
his own productions we remarked a few 
highly judicious alterations, with some 
others which we could not equally ap- 
prove—on the whole we must suggest, 
that he has still to learn “ the art to 
blot.” He omits scarce any thing, and 
so far from sinking, his juvenile produc- 
tions appear to rise in his esteem ; seve- 
ral of these, which in the last edition 
were thrown into a supplement, with a 
kind of confesston of their inferiority, 
now boldly thrust themselves into the 
body of the volume, without apology 
and without abbreviation. 
The pieces now first offered to the 
public are few and short, but such as af- 
ford examples of the best and worst man- 
ner of this striking and peculiar writer. 
Novel and picturesque personification, 
sometimes almost expanding into alle- 
gory, forms’ perhaps the most promi- 
nent and most beautiful feature of the 
highly figurative style of Mr. Coleridge, 
but never did he display this character- 
istic with more exquisite grace than in 
the following lines; 
“© Ah, fair delights! that o’er my soul 
On Mem’ry’s wipg, like shadows, fly! 
Ah, flowers! which Joy from Eden stole 
Whale Innocence stood smiling by f° 
Absence, a Farewell Ode. 
_ The political sentiment of the follow- 
ing sonnet is now obsolete, but the ani- 
mated simile by which it is ushered in, 
is worthy of a longer date. 
«« As when far off the warbled strains are heard 
Thatsoar on Morning's wing the vales among, 
Within his cage th’ imprison‘d matin bird 
Swells the fall chorus witha generous song‘ 
He bathes no pinion in the dewy light, 
No father’s joy, no lover’s bliss he shares, 
Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight— 
His fellows’ freedom soothes the captive’s cares! 
Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with start- 
ling voice 
Life’s better sun from that long wintry night, 
Thus in thy country’s trium hs shalt rejoice 
And mock with raptures high the dungeon’s 
might : 
For lo! the morning struggles into day, 
And slavery’s spectres shriek and vanish from 
the ray!" 
Some other political sonnets, which are 
far from possessing equal poetical me- 
rit, and are disgraced by much coarse 
vehemence of thought and expression, 
surely ought not now to have been 
brought forward for the first time. 
In the complaint of Ninathoma, and 
another metrical imitation of Ossian, we 
cannot discern the slightest trace of Mr. 
Coleridge’s hand, though we clearly re- 
cognise that of a correct and cultivated 
poet; these proofs of versatility of talent 
are pleasing, and show that it is perfectly 
at the o»tion of this favoured genius, to 
dance along the fairy paths of elegance, 
or soar into the loftiest regions of subli- 
mity. ‘ 
