and all curiosity about their fate?—Now, what meet her enamoured bridegroom in the degentlemen and ladies are to a ferocious savage, lightful valley of Cashmere. The progress or politicians and princesses to an ordinary rustic, the exaggerated persons of such poetry as we are now considering, are to the ordinary readers of poetry. They do not believe in the possibility of their existence, or of their adventures. They do not comprehend the principles of their conduct; and have no thorough sympathy with the feelings that are ascribed to them. We have carried this speculation, we believe, a little too far-and, with reference to the volume before us, it would be more correct perhaps to say, that it had suggested these observations, than that they are strictly applicable to it. For though its faults are certainly of the kind we have been endeavouring to describe, it would be quite unjust to characterise it by its faults-which are beyond all doubt less conspicuous than its beauties. There is not only a richness and brilliancy of diction and imagery spread over the whole work, that indicate the greatest activity and elegance of fancy in the author; but it is everywhere pervaded, still more strikingly, by a strain of tender and noble feeling, poured out with such warmth and abundance, as to steal insensibly on the heart of the reader, and gradually to overflow it with a tide of sympathetic emotion. There are passages indeed, and these neither few nor brief, over which the very Genius of Poetry seems to have breathed his richest enchantmentwhere the melody of the verse and the beauty of the images conspire so harmoniously with the force and tenderness of the emotion, that the whole is blended into one deep and bright stream of sweetness and feeling, along which the spirit of the reader is borne passively away, through long reaches of delight. Mr. Moore's poetry, indeed, where his happiest vein is opened, realises more exactly than that of any other writer, the splendid account which is given by Comus of the song of His mother Circe, and the Sirens three, And though it is certainly to be regretted that he should so often have broken the measure with more frivolous strains, or filled up its intervals with a sort of brilliant falsetto, it should never be forgotten, that his excellences are at least as peculiar to himself as his faults, and, on the whole, perhaps more characteristic of his genius. The volume before us contains four separate and distinct poems-connected, however, and held together "like orient pearls at random strung," by the slender thread of a slight prose story, on which they are all suspended, and to the simple catastrophe of which they in some measure contribute. This airy and elegant legend is to the following effect. Lalla Rookh, the daughter of the great Aurengzebe, is betrothed to the young king of Bucharia; and sets forth, with a splendid train of Indian and Bucharian attendants, to of this gorgeous cavalcade, and the beauty of the country which it traverses, are exhibited with great richness of colouring and picturesque effect; though in this, as well as in the other parts of the prose narrative, a certain tone of levity, and even derision, is frequently assumed-not very much in keeping, we think, with the tender and tragic strain of poetry of which it is the accompanimentcertain breakings out, in short, of that mocking European wit, which has made itself merry with Asiatic solemnity, ever since the time of the facetious Count Hamilton-but seems a little out of place in a miscellany, the prevailing character of which is of so opposite a temper. To amuse the languor, or divert the impatience of the royal bride, in the noon-tide and night-halts of her luxurious progress, a young Cashmerian poet had been sent by the gallantry of the bridegroom; and recites, on those occasions, the several poems that form the bulk of the volume now before us. Such is the witchery of his voice and look, and such the sympathetic effect of the tender tales which he recounts, that the poor princess, as was naturally to be expected, falls desperately in love with him before the end of the journey; and by the time she enters the lovely vale of Cashmere, and sees the glittering palaces and towers prepared for her reception, she feels that she would joyfully forego all this pomp and splendour, and fly to the desert with her adored Feramorz. The youthful bard, however, has now disappeared from her side; and she is supported, with fainting heart and downcast eyes, into the hated presence of her tyrant! when the voice of Feramorz himself bids her be of good cheer-and, looking up, she sees her beloved poet in the Prince himself! who had assumed this gallant disguise, and won her young affections, without deriving any aid from his rank or her engagements. The whole story is very sweetly and gaily told; and is adorned with many tender as well as lively passages without reckoning the latter the occasional criticisms of among the omniscient Fadladeen, the magnificent and most infallible grand chamberlain of the Haram whose sayings and remarks, we cannot help observing, do not agree very well with the character which is assigned him— being for the most part very smart, sententious, and acute, and by no means solemn, stupid, and pompous, as was to have been expected. Mr. Moore's genius, however, we suppose, is too inveterately lively, to make it possible for him even to counterfeit dulness. We come at last, however, to the poetry. The first piece, which is entitled "The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan," is the longest, we think, and certainly not the best, of the series. It has all the faults which we have, somewhat too sweepingly, imputed to the volume at large; and it was chiefly, indeed, with a reference to it, that we made those introductory remarks, which the author will probably think too much in the spirit of the sage Chamberlain. The story, which is not illusions, he poisons the remnant of his adin all its parts extremely intelligible, is herents, and himself plunges into a bath, of founded on a notice, in D'Herbelot, of a da- such corrosive quality, as instantly to extinring impostor of the early ages of Islamism, guish life, and dissolve all the elements of who pretended to have received a later and the mortal frame. Zelica then covers herself more authoritative mission than that of the with his fatal veil, and totters out to the ramprophet, and to be destined to overturn all parts, where, being mistaken for Mokanna, tyrannies and superstitions on the earth, and she rushes upon the spear of her Azim, and to rescue all souls that believed in him. To receives his forgiveness in death! while he shade the celestial radiance of his brow, he survives, to pass the rest of his life in continalways wore a veil of silver gauze, and was ual prayer and supplication for her erring spirit; at last attacked by the Caliph, and extermi- and dies at last upon her grave, in the full nated, with all his adherents. On this story, assurance of rejoining her in purity and bliss. Mr. Moore has engrafted a romantic and not It is needless to enlarge on the particular very probable tale of two young lovers, Azim faults of this story, after the general observaand Zelica; the former of whom having been tions we hazarded at the outset. The char supposed to perish in battle, the grief of the acter of Mokanna, as well as his power and latter unsettles her understanding; and her influence, is a mere distortion and extravadistempered imagination is easily inflamed gance: But the great blemish is the corrup by the mystic promises of the Veiled Prophet, tion of Zelica; and the insanity so gratui which at length prevail on her to join the tously alleged by the poet in excuse of it. troop of lovely priestesses who earn a blissful Nothing less, indeed, could in any way acimmortality in another world, by sharing his count for such a catastrophe; and, after all, embraces upon earth. By what artful illu- it is painful and offensive to the imagination. signs the poor distracted maid was thus be- The bridal oath, pledged with blood among trayed to her ruin, is not very satisfactorily the festering bodies of the dead, is one of the explained; only we are informed that she overstrained theatrical horrors of the German and the Veiled Apostle descended into a school; and a great deal of the theorising charnel-house, and took a mutual oath, and and argumentation which is intended to pallidrank blood together, in pledge of their eter-ate or conceal those defects, is obscure and nal union. At length Azim, who had not incomprehensible. Rich as it is, in short, in been slain, but made captive in battle, and fancy and expression, and powerful in some had wandered in Greece till he had imbibed of the scenes of passion, we should have had the love of liberty that inspired her famous great doubts of the success of this volume, if heroes of old-hears of the proud promises it had all been of the same texture with the of emancipation which Mokanna (for that poem of which we are now speaking. Yet, was the prophet's name) had held out to all even there, there is a charm, almost irresisti nations, and comes to be enrolled among the ble, in the volume of sweet sounds and beauchampions of freedom and virtue. On the tiful images, which are heaped together with day of his presentment, he is introduced into luxurious profusion in the general texture of a scene of voluptuous splendour, where all the the style, and invest even the absurdities of seducive influences of art and nature are in vain the story with the graceful amplitude of their exerted to divert his thoughts from the love rich and figured veil. What, for instance, can of Zelica and of liberty. He breaks proudly be sweeter than this account of Azim's entry away from these soft enchantments, and finds into this earthly paradise of temptations? a mournful female figure before him, in whom he almost immediately recognises his long- Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, lost and ever-loved Zelica. The first moment Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound of their meeting is ecstasy on both sides; but From many a jasper fount, is heard around, the unhappy girl soon calls to mind the un- Young Azim roams bewilder'd; nor can guess utterable condition to which she is reduced-What means this maze of light and loneliness! and, in agony, reveals to him the sad story of her derangement, and of the base advantages that had been taken of it. Azim at first throws her from him in abhorrence, but soon turns, in relenting pity, and offers at last to rescue her from this seat of pollution. She listens with eager joy to his proposal, and is about to fly with him in the instant, when the dread voice of Mokanna thunders in her ear her oath of eternal fidelity. That terrible sound brings back her frenzy. She throws her lover wildly from her, and vanishes at once, amidst the dazzling lights of that unholy palace. Azim then joins the approaching army of the Caliph, and leads on his forces against the impious usurper. Mokanna performs prodigies of valour-but is always borne back by the superior force and enthusiasm of Azim: and after a long course of horrors and Here, the way leads, o'er tesselated floors "Here too he traces the kind visitings While, on the other, lattic'd lightly in Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;- pp. 53-56. The warrior youth looks round at first with disdain upon those seductions, with which he supposes the sage prophet wishes to try the firmness of his votaries. "While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze "Awhile they dance before him; then divide, She saw through all his features, calm'd her fear; The following picture of the grand armament of the Caliph shows the same luxuriance of diction and imagination, directed to different objects: "Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way, Princely pavilions, screen'd by many a fold Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of gold;- "Ne'er did the march of Mahadi display Such pomp before ;-not ev'n when on his way To Mecca's Temple, when both land and sea Were spoil'd to feed the Pilgrim's luxury; When round him, mid the burning sands, he saw Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw, And cool'd his thirsty lip, beneath the glow Of Mecca's sun, with urns of Persian snow:Nor e'er did armament more grand than that Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat. First, in the van, the People of the Rock, On their light mountain steeds, of royal stock; Then, Chieftains of Damascus, proud to see The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry," &c. pp. 86-89. We can afford room now only for the conclusion-the last words of the dying Zelica; which remind us of those of Campbell's Gertrude-and the catastrophe of Azim, which is imaged in that of Southey's Roderick. “But live, my Azim;-oh! to call thee mine Thus once again!-my Azim-dream divine! Live, if thou ever lov'dst me, if to meet Thy Zelica hereafter would be sweet, Oh live to pray for her!-to bend the knee Morning and night before that Deity, To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain, Go to those happy fields where first we twin'd flowers, Will bring the sweetness of those innocent hours Of death hung dark'ning over him, there play'd His soul had seen a Vision, while he slept; died! And there, upon the banks of that lov'd tide, He and his Zelica sleep side by side." pp. 121-123. The next piece, which is entitled "Paradise and the Peri," has none of the faults of the preceding. It is full of spirit, elegance, and beauty; and, though slight enough in its structure, breathes throughout a most pure and engaging morality. It is, in truth, little more than a moral apologue, expanded and adorned by the exuberant fancy of the poet who recites it. The Peris are a sort of half-fallen female angels, who dwell in air, and live on perfumes; and, though banished for a time from Para dise, go about in this lower world doing good. One of these-But it is as short, and much more agreeable, to give the author's own introduction. "One morn a Peri at the gate Of Life within, like music flowing; p. 133. The Angel of the Gate sees her weeping, and 666 Nymph of a fair, but erring line!' The Peri yet may be forgiven The gift that is most dear to Heaven! Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin;— 'Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in!'"-p. 135. Full of hope and gratitude, she goes eagerly in search of this precious gift. Her first quest is on the plains of India-the luxuriant beauty of which is put in fine contrast with the havoc and carnage which the march of a bloody conqueror had then spread over them. The Peri comes to witness the heroic death of a youthful patriot, who disdains to survive the overthrow of his country's independence.She catches the last drop which flows from his breaking heart, and bears that to heaven's gate, as the acceptable propitiation that was required. For Oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere, A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!'"-p. 140. The angel accepts the tribute with respect : But the crystal bar of the portal does not move! and she is told that something holier even than this, will be required as the price of her admission. She now flies to the source of the Nile, and makes a delightful but pensive survey of the splendid regions which it waters; till she finds the inhabitants of the lovely gardens of Rosetta dying by thousands of the plague-the selfish deserting their friends and benefactors, and the generous, when struck with the fatal malady, seeking some solitude where they may die without bringing death upon others. Among the latter is a noble youth, who consoles himself, in the hour of his agony, with the thought, that his beloved and betrothed bride is safe from this mortal visitation. In the stillness of his midnight retreat, however, he hears a light step approaching. 'Tis she-far off, through moonlight dim, In the cold lake her loosen'd tresses, An hour would come, when he should shrink "Oh! let me only breathe the air, The blessed air, that's breath'd by thee! And, whether on its wings it bear Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me! There-drink my tears, while yet they fallWould that my bosom's blood were balm, And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all To give thy brow one minute's calm. Nay, turn not from me that dear faceAm I not thine-thy own lov'd brideThe one, the chosen one, whose place, In life or death, is by thy side! When the stem dies, the leaf that grew Out of its heart must perish too! Then turn to me, my own love! turn Before like thee I fade and burn; Cling to these yet cool lips, and share The last pure life that lingers there!" She fails-she sinks!-as dies the lamp In charnel airs or cavern-damp, So quickly do his baleful sighs Quench all the sweet light of her eyes! One struggle and his pain is pastHer lover is no longer living! One kiss the maiden gives, one last, Long kiss-which she expires in giving." pp. 146-148. The gentle Peri bids them sleep in peace; and bears again to the gates of heaven the farewell sign of pure, self-sacrificing love. The worth of the gift is again admitted by the pitying angel; but the crystal bar still remains immovable; and she is sent once more to seek a still holier offering. In passing over the romantic vales of Syria, she sees a lovely child at play among dews and flowers, and opposite to him a stern wayfaring man, resting from some unhallowed toil, with the stamp of all evil passions and evil deeds on his face. "But hark! the vesper-call to prayer, As slow the orb of daylight sets, From Syria's thousand minarets! Kneels, with his forehead to the south From purity's own cherub mouth, And hope and feeling, which had slept This tear of repentance is the acceptable gift for the Peri's redemption. The gates of heaven fly open, and she rushes into the joy of immortality. "The Fire Worshippers" is the next in the series, and appears to us to be indisputably the finest and most powerful. With all the richness and beauty of diction that belong to the best parts of Mokanna, it has a far more interesting story; and is not liable to any of the objections we have been obliged to bring against the contrivance and structure of that leading poem. The outline of the story is short and simple.-Al Hassan, the bigotted and sanguinary Emir of Persia, had long waged a furious and exterminating war against the votaries of the ancient religion of the landthe worshippers of Mithra, or his emblem, Fire-then and since designated by the name of Ghebers. The superior numbers of the invader had overcome the heroic resistance of the patriots, and driven them to take refuge in a precipitous peninsula, cut off from the land by what was understood to be an impassable ravine, and exposing nothing but bare rocks to the sea. In this fastness the scanty remnant of the Ghebers maintain themselves, under the command of their dauntless leader, Hafed, who is still enabled, by sudden and daring incursions, to harass and annoy their enemy. In one of those desperate enterprises, this adventurous leader climbs to the summit of a lofty cliff, near the Emir's palace, where a small pleasure-house had been built, in which he hoped to surprise this bigotted foe of his country; but found only his fair daughter Hinda, the loveliest and gentlest of all Arabian maids-as he himself expresses it. "He climb'd the gory Vulture's nest, And found a trembling Dove within!" This romantic meeting gives rise to a mutual passion-and the love of the fair Hinda is inevitably engaged, before she knows the name or quality of her nightly visitant. In the noble heart of Hafed, however, love was but a secondary feeling, to devotion to the freedom and the faith of his country. His little band had lately suffered further reverses, and saw nothing now before them but a glorious self-sacrifice. He resolves, therefore, to tear all gentler feelings from his breast, and in one last interview to take an eternal farewell of the maid who had captivated his soul. In his melancholy aspect she reads at once, with the instinctive sagacity of love, the tidings of their approaching separation; and breaks out into the following sweet and girlish repinings :— "I knew, I knew it could not last 'Twas bright, 'twas heavenly-but 'tis past! I never lov'd a tree or flower, I never nurs'd a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,- When he smiles sternly at the idea of danger, she urges him to join her father's forces, and earn her hand by helping him to root out those impious Ghebers whom he so much abhors. The spirit of the patriot bursts forth at this; and, without revealing his name or quality, he proudly avows and justifies the conduct of that luckless sect; and then, relenting, falls into a gentler and more pathetic strain. "Oh! had we never, never met! Far as the grasp of Fate can sever; Faith, friends, and country, sunder'd wide;- No!-sacred to thy soul will be All but that bleeding land for thee! He then starts desperately away; regains his skiff at the foot of the precipice, and leaves her in agony and consternation. The poet now proceeds to detail, a little more particularly, the history of his hero; and recounts some of the absurd legends and miraculous attributes with which the fears of his enemies had invested his name. "Such were the tales, that won belief, And such the colouring fancy gave His only spell-word, Liberty! The pageant of his country's shame; Of a first smile, so welcom'd he |