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"He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe:
"A valley from the river shore withdrawn
The effect of this seclusion on Gertrude is beautifully represented.
"Sleep, wearied one! and in the dreaming land
"It seem'd as if those scenes sweet influence had
"Nor guess I, was that Pennsylvanian home,
The morning scenery, too, is touched with a delicate and masterly hand.
"While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew,
This warrior, however, is not without high To human art a sportive semblance wore; feelings and tender affections.
And yellow lichens colour'd all the clime,
Like moonlight battlements, and towers decayed by time.
The reader is left rather too much in the dark as to Henry's departure for Europe;nor, indeed, are we apprised of his absence, till we come to the scene of his unexpected return. Gertrude was used to spend the hot part of the day in reading in a lonely and rocky recess in those safe woods; which is described with Mr. Campbell's usual felicity.
A song of parting to the boy he sung,
Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his friend-Breath'd but an air of heav'n, and all the grove ly tongue.
"But high, in amphitheatre above,
As if instinct with living spirit grew,
In this retreat, which is represented as so solitary, that except her own,
scarce an ear had heard
a stranger of lofty port and gentle manners surprises her, one morning, and is conducted to her father. They enter into conversation on the subject of his travels.
"And much they lov'd his fervid strain-
"Anon some wilder portraiture he draws!
Nor voice nor living motion marks around;
Albert, at last, bethinks him of inquiring after his stray ward young Henry; and entertains his guest with a short summary of his history.
"His face the wand'rer hid ;-but could not hide
'Tis Waldegrave's self, of Waldegrave come to
The first overflowing of their joy and artless love is represented with all the fine colours of truth and poetry; but we cannot now make room for it. The Second Part ends with this stanza :
"Then would that home admit them-happier far
The Last Part sets out with a soft but spirited sketch of their short-lived felicity.
"Three little moons, how short! amidst the grove, And pastoral savannas they consume! While she, beside her buskin'd youth to rove, Delights, in fancifully wild costume, Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume; And forth in hunter-seeming vest they fare; But not to chase the deer in forest gloom! 'Tis but the breath of heav'n-the blessed airAnd interchange of hearts, unknown, unseen to share.
"What though the sportive dog oft round them note,
The transition to the melancholy part of the story is introduced with great tenderness and dignity.
"But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth? The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below!
And must I change my song? and must I show,
Sad was the year, by proud Oppression driv❜n,
Not in the sunshine, and the smile of heav'n,
Her birth star was the light of burning plains;
O, meet not thou," she cries, "thy kindred foe! But peaceful let us seek fair England's strand," &c. -as well as the arguments and generous sentiments by which her husband labours to reconcile her to a necessary evil. The noc| turnal irruption of the old Indian is given with great spirit:-Age and misery had so changed his appearance, that he was not at first recognised by any of the party.
And ey'd the group with half indignant air),
"It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame,
'Twas strange-nor could the group a smile control,
It is my own!' he cried, and clasp'd him to his
"Calm, opposite the Christian Father rose,
Of martyr light the conflagration throws;
They then speed their night march to the distant fort, whose wedged ravelins and re
"Wove like a diadem, its tracery round
The lofty summit of that mountain green "and look back from its lofty height on the desolated scenes around them. We will not
separate, nor apologize for the length of the fine passage that follows; which alone, we think, might justify all we have said in praise of the poem.
"A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun,
"But short that contemplation! sad and short
Gleam'd like a basilisk, from woods in view,
"And tranc'd in giddy horror Gertrude swoon'd! Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone, Say, burst they, borrow'd from her father's wound, Those drops ?-O God! the life-blood is her own! And falt'ring, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrown'Weep not, O Love!'-she cries, to see me bleed
Thee, Gertrude's sad survivor, thee aloneHeaven's peace commiserate! for scarce I heed These wounds!-Yet thee to leave is death, is death indeed.
"Clasp me a little longer, on the brink
But thee, my flow'r! whose breath was giv'n By milder genii o'er the deep,
The spirits of the white man's heav'n
But when the bolt of death is hurl'd,
He bids my soul for battle thirst-
It is needless, after these extracts, to enlarge upon the beauties of this poem. They consist chiefly in the feeling and tenderness of the whole delineation, and the taste and delicacy with which all the subordinate parts are made to contribute to the general effect. Before dismissing it, however, we must say a little of its faults, which are sufficiently obvious and undeniable. In the first place, the narrative is extremely obscure and imperfect; and has greater blanks in it than could be tolerated even in lyric poetry. We hear absolutely nothing of Henry, from the day the Indian first brings him from the back country, till he returns from Europe fifteen years thereafter. It is likewise a great oversight in Mr. Campbell to separate his lovers, when only twelve years of age-a period at which it is utterly inconceivable that any permanent attachment could have been formed. The greatest fault, however, of the work, is the occasional constraint and obscurity of the diction, proceeding apparently from too laborious an effort at emphasis or condensation. The metal seems in several places to have been so much overworked, as to have lost not only its ductility, but its lustre; and, while there are passages which can scarcely be at all understood after the most careful consideration, there are others which have an air so elaborate and artificial, as to destroy all appearance of nature in the sentiment. Our readers may have remarked something of this sort, in the first extracts with which we have presented them; but there are specimens still more exceptionable. In order to inform us that Albert had lost his wife, Mr. Campbell is pleased to say, that
"Fate had reft his mutual heart;" and in order to tell us something else-though what, we are utterly unable to conjecture he concludes a stanza on the delights of mutual love, with these three lines :
spirit and pattern of what is before him, we hope he will yet be induced to make considerable additions to a work, which will please those most who are most worthy to be pleased; and always seem most beautiful to those who give it the greatest share of their attention.
ume, we have scarce left ourselves room to Of the smaller pieces which fill up the volsay any thing. The greater part of them have been printed before; and there are probably few readers of English poetry who are not already familiar with the Lochiel and the Hohinlinden-the one by far the most spirited and poetical denunciation of coming woe, since the days of Cassandra; the other the only representation of a modern battle, which possesses either interest or sublimity. The song to "the Mariners of England," is also very generally known. It is a splendid instance of the most magnificent diction adapted to a familiar and even trivial metre. Nothing can be finer than the first and the last stanzas.
• Ye mariners of England!
That guard our native seas;
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
Your glorious standard launch again
And sweep through the deep," &c.—p. 101.
"The meteor flag of England
Till danger's troubled night depart,
has been printed before, is much less known. "The Battle of the Baltic," though we think Though written in a strange, and we think an unfortunate metre, it has great force and grandeur, both of conception and expressionthat sort of force and grandeur which results from the simple and concise expression of great events and natural emotions, altogether unassisted by any splendour or amplification of expression. The characteristic merit, indeed, both of this piece and of Hohinlinden, is, that, by the forcible delineation of one or two great circumstances, they give a clear and most energetic representation of events as complicated as they are impressive-and thus impress the mind of the reader with all the terror and sublimity of the subject, while they rescue him from the fatigue and perplexity of its details. Nothing in our judgment can be more impressive than the following very short and simple description of the British fleet bearing up to close action :
"As they drifted on their path,
The description of the battle itself (though it begins with a tremendous line) is in the same spirit of homely sublimity; and worth a thousand stanzas of thunder, shrieks, shouts, tridents, and heroes.
When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, 'Twas the youth who had lov'd the fair Ellen of Lorn:
Ir Mr. Campbell's poetry was of a kind that could be forgotten, his long fits of silence would put him fairly in the way of that misfortune. But, in truth, he is safe enough; and has even acquired, by virtue of his exemplary laziness, an assurance and pledge of immortality which he could scarcely have obtained without it. A writer who is still fresh in the mind and favour of the public, after twenty years' intermission, may reasonably expect to be remembered when death shall have finally sealed up the fountains of his inspiration; imposed silence on the cavils of envious rivals, and enhanced the value of
"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief; On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem; Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!'
"In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found; From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne, Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!" pp. 105-107.
We close this volume, on the whole, with feelings of regret for its shortness, and of admiration for the genius of its author. There are but two noble sorts of poetry—the pathetic and the sublime; and we think he has given very extraordinary proofs of his talents for both. There is something, too, we will venture to add, in the style of many of his conthe conviction, that he can do much greater ceptions, which irresistibly impresses us with things than he has hitherto accomplished; and leads us to regard him, even yet, as a poet of still greater promise than performance. It seems to us, as if the natural force and boldness of his ideas were habitually checked by a certain fastidious timidity, and an anxiety about the minor graces of correct and chastened composition. Certain it is, at least, that his greatest and most lofty flights have been made in those smaller pieces, about which, it is natural to think, he must have felt least solicitude; and that he has succeeded most splendidly where he must have been most free from the fear of failure. We wish any praises or exhortations of ours had the power to give him confidence in his own great talents; and hope earnestly, that he will now meet with such encouragement, as may set him above all restraints that proceed from apprehension; and induce him to give free scope to that genius, of which we are persuaded that the world has hitherto seen rather the grace than the richness.
Theodric, a Domestic Tale: with other Poems. By THOMAS CAMPBELL. 12mo. pp. 150.
those relics to which it excludes the possi bility of any future addition. At all events, he has better proof of the permanent interest the public take in his productions, than those ever can have who are more diligent in their multiplication, and keep themselves in the recollection of their great patron by more frequent intimations of their existence. The experiment, too, though not without its hazards, is advantageous in another respect;-for the re-appearance of such an author, after those long periods of occultation, is naturally hailed as a novelty-and he receives the double welcome, of a celebrated stranger, and