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Staffa, I scaled thy summit hoar,

Of chariots rolled with each an armed band; I passed beneath thy arch gigantic,

Earth groaned afar beneath their iron wheels : Whose pillared cavern swells the roar,

Part armed with scythe for battle, part adorned When thunders on thy rocky shore

For triumph. Nor there wanting a led train The roll of the Atlantic,

Of steeds in rich caparison, for show That hour the wind forgot to rave,

Of solemn entry. Round about the king, The surge forgot its motion,

Warriors, his watch and ward, from every tribe And every pillar in thy cave

Drawn out. Of these a thousand each selects, Slept in its shadow on the wave,

Of size and comeliness above their peers,

Pride of their race. Radiant their armour: some Ūnrippled by the ocean.

In silver cased, scale over scale, that played Then the past age before me came,

All pliant to the litheness of the limb; When 'mid the lightning's sweep,

Some mailed in twisted gold, link within link Thy isle with its basaltic frame,

Flexibly ringed and fitted, that the eye And every column wreathed with flame,

Beneath the yielding panoply pursued, Burst from the boiling deep.

When act of war the strength of man provoked, When 'mid Iona's wrecks meanwhile

The motion of the muscles, as they worked O'er sculptured graves I trod,

In rise and fall. On each left thigh a sword Where Time had strewn each mouldering aisle

Swung in the 'broidered baldric; each right hand O'er saints and kings that reared the pile,

Grasped a long-shadowing spear. Like them, their I hailed the eternal God:

chiefs Yet, Staffa, more I felt his presence in thy cave

Arrayed ; save on their shields of solid ore, Than where lona's cross rose o'er the western wave.

And on their helm, the graver's toil had wrought

Its subtlety in rich device of war; Mr Sotheby's translation of the Iliad was published And o'er their mail, a robe, Punicean dye, in 1831, and was generally esteemed spirited and Gracefully played ; where the winged shuttle, shot faithful. The Odyssey he completed in the follow- By cunning of Sidonian virgins, wove ing year. This was the last production of the Broidure of many-coloured figures rare. amiable and indefatigable author. He still enjoyed Bright glowed the sun, and bright the burnished mail the society of his friends, and even made another of thousands, ranged, whose pace to song kept time; tour through North Wales; but his lengthened life And bright the glare of spears, and gleam of crests, was near a close, and after a short illness, he died And flaunt of banners flashing to and fro on the 30th of December 1833, in the seventy- The noonday beam. Beneath their coming, earth seventh year of his age. The original poetical Wide glittered. Seen afar, amidst the pomp, productions of Mr Sotheby have not been reprinted; Gorgeously mailed, but more by pride of port his translations are the chief source of his reputa- Known, and superior stature, than rich trim tion. Wieland, it is said, was charmed with the Of war and regal ornament, the king, genius of his translator; and the rich beauty of Throned in triumphal car, with trophies graced, diction in the Oberon, and its facility of versifica- Stood eminent. The lifting of his lance tion, notwithstanding the restraints imposed by a Shone like a sunbeam. O'er his armour flowed difficult measure, were eulogised by the critics. In A robe, imperial mantle, thickly starred his tragedies, Mr Sotheby displays considerable With blaze of orient gems; the clasp that bound warmth of passion and figurative language, but his Its gathered folds his ample chest athwart, plots are ill constructed. His sacred poem, Saul,' Sapphire; and o'er his casque, where rubies burnt, is the longest of his works. “There is delicacy and A cherub flamed and waved his wings in gold. grace in many of the descriptions,' says Jeffrey, * a sustained tone of gentleness and piety in the [Song of the Virgins Celebrating the Victory.) sentiments, and an elaborate beauty in the diction, which frequently makes amends for the want of Daughters of Israel! praise the Lord of Hosts ! force and originality. The versification also wants Break into song! With harp and tabret lift that easy flow and melody which characterise Obe- Your voices up, and weave with joy the dance ; ron. Passages of Sotheby's metrical romance are And to your twinkling footsteps toss aloft happily versified, and may be considered good imi- Your arms; and from the flash of cymbals shake tations of Scott. Indeed, Byron said of Mr Sotheby, Sweet clangour, measuring the giddy maze. that he imitated everybody, and occasionally sur

Shout ye! and ye! make answer, Saul hath slain passed his models.

His thousands; David his ten thousands slain.

Sing a new song. I saw them in their rage; [Approach of Saul and his Guards against the

I saw the gleam of spears, the flash of swords,
Philistines.]

That rang against our gates. The warders' watch

Ceased not. Tower answered tower: a warning voice Hark! hark! the clash and clang Was heard without; the cry of wo within: Of shaken cymbals cadencing the pace

The shriek of virgins, and the wail of her, Of martial movement regular; the swell

The mother, in her anguish, who fore-wept, Sonorous of the brazen trump of war ;

Wept at the breast her babe as now no more. Shrill twang of harps, soothed by melodious chime Shout ye! and ye! make answer, Saul hath slain Of beat on silver bars; and sweet, in pause

His thousands; David his ten thousands slain. Of harsher instrument, continuous flow

Sing a new song. Spake not the insulting foe? Of breath, through flutes, in symphony with song, I will pursue, o'ertake, divide the spoil. Choirs, whose matched voices filled the air afar My hand shall dash their infants on the stones; With jubilee and chant of triumph hymn;

The ploughshare of my vengeance shall draw out And ever and anon irregular burst

The furrow, where the tower and fortress rose. Of loudest acclamation to each host

Before my chariot Israel's chiefs shall clank Saul's stately advance proclaimed. Before him, youths Their chains. Each side their virgin daughters groan; In robes succinct for swiftness ; oft they struck Erewhile to weave my conquest on their looms. Their staves against the ground, and warned the throng Shout ye! and ye! make answer, Saul hath slain Backward to distant homage. Next, his strength His thousands ; David his ten thousands slain.

Song to May. May ! queen of blossoms,

And fulfilling flowers, With what pretty music

Shall we charm the hours? Wilt thou have pipe and recd, Blown in the open mead ? Or to the lute give heed

In the green bowers?

Thou hast no need of us,

Or pipe or wire, That hast the golden bee

Ripened with fire ; And many thousand more Songsters, that thee adore, Filling earth's grassy floor

With new desire.

Thou heardst, O God of battle! Thou, whose look Snappeth the spear in sunder. In thy strength A youth, thy chosen, laid their champion low. Saul, Saul pursues, o'ertakes, divides the spoil ; Wreathes round our necks these chains of gold, and

robes Our limbs with floating crimson. Then rejoice, Daughters of Israel! from your cymbals shake Sweet clangour, hymning God! the Lord of Hosts !

Ye! shout! and ye! make answer, Saul hath slain His thousands; David his ten thousands slain.

Such the hymned harmony, from voices breathed Of virgin minstrels, of each tribe the prime For beauty, and fine form, and artful touch Of instrument, and skill in dance and song; Choir answering choir, that on to Gibeah led The victors back in triumph. On each neck Played chains of gold; and, shadowing their charms With colour like the blushes of the morn, Robes, gift of Saul, round their light limbs, in toss Of cymbals, and the many-mazed dance, Floated like roseate clouds. Thus, these came on In dance and song; then, multitudes that swelled The pomp of triumph, and in circles ranged Around the altar of Jehovah, brought Freely their offerings; and with one accord Sang, 'Glory, and praise, and worship unto God.'

Loud rang the exultation. 'Twas the voice
Of a free people from impending chains
Redeemed; a people proud, whose bosom beat
With fire of glory and renown in arms
Triumphant. Loud the exultation rang.

There, many a wife, whose ardent gaze from far
Singled the warrior whose glad eye gave back
Her look of love. There, many à grandsire held
A blooming boy aloft, and ’midst the array
In triumph, pointing with his staff, exclaimed,
Lo, my brave son ! I now may die in peace.'
There, many a beauteous virgin, blushing deep,
Flung back her veil, and, as the warrior came,
Hailed her betrothed. But, chiefly, on one alone
All dwelt.

Thou hast thy mighty herds,

Tame, and free livers ; Doubt not, thy music too

In the deep rivers ; And the whole plumy flight, Warbling the day and nightUp at the gates of light,

See, the lark quivers !

When with the jacinth

Coy fountains are tressed ; And for the mournful bird

Greenwoods are dressed, That did for Tereus pine ; Then shall our songs be thine, To whom our hearts incline :

May, be thou blessed !

The Sun-Flower.

The Winter's Morn.

Behold, my dear, this lofty flower,

That now the golden sun receives; No other deity has power,

But only Phoebus, on her leaves; As he in radiant glory burns, From east to west her visage turns.

Artist unseen! that, dipt in frozen dew,

Hast on the glittering glass thy pencil laid,

Ere from yon sun the transient visions fade, Swift let me trace the forms thy fancy drew! Thy towers and palaces of diamond hue,

Rivers and lakes of lucid crystal made,

And hung in air hoar trees of branching shade, That liquid pearl distil : thy scenes renew, Whate'er old bards or later fictions feign,

Of secret grottos underneath the wave,

Where nereids roof with spar the amber cave; Or bowers of bliss, where sport the fairy train,

Who, frequent by the moonlight wanderer seen, Circle with radiant gems the dewy green.

The dial tells no tale more true,

Than she his journal on her leaves, When morn first gives him to her view,

Or night, that her of him bereaves,
A dismal interregnum bids
Her weeping eyes to close their lids.
Forsaken of his light, she pines

The cold, the dreary night away,
Till in the east the crimson signs

Betoken the great god of day;
Then, lifting up her drooping face,
She sheds around a golden grace.
O Nature, in all parts divine !

What moral sweets her leaves disclose! Then in my verse her truth shall shine,

And be immortal, as the rose, Anacreon's plant; arise, thou flower, That hast fidelity thy dower !

EDWARD LORD THURLOW.

EDWARD HOVEL Thurlow (Lord Thurlow). has published several small volumes of poetry: Select Poems (1821); Poems on Several Occasions ; Angelica, or the Fate of Proteus ; Arcita and Palamon, after Chaucer, &c. Amidst much affectation and bad taste, there is real poetry in the works of this nobleman. He has been a source of ridicule and sarcasm to various reviewers — and not undeservedly; yet in pieces like the following, there is a freshness of fancy and feeling, and a richness of expression, that resemble Herrick or Moore.

Apollo, on whose beams you gaze,

Has filled my breast with golden light; And circled me with sacred rays,

To be a poet in his sight:
Then, thus I give the crown to thee,
Whose impress is fidelity.

Roman Catholics, a body then proscribed and deSonnets.

pressed by penal enactments, and they seem to have The Summer, the divinest Summer burns,

been of the number who, to use his own words, The skies are bright with azure and with gold; “hailed the first dazzling outbreak of the French The mavis, and the nightingale, by turns, Revolution as a signal to the slave, wherever suffering,

Amid the woods a soft enchantment hold: that the day of his deliverance was near at hand.' The flowering woods, with glory and delight, The poet states that in 1792 he was taken by his

Their tender leaves unto the air have spread ; father to one of the dinners given in honour of that The wanton air, amid their alleys bright,

great event, and sat upon the knee of the chairman Doth softly fly, and a light fragrance ehed : while the following toast was enthusiastically sent The nymphs within the silver fountains play, round : “May the breezes from France fan our Irish

The angels on the golden banks recline,
Wherein great Flora, in her bright array,

Hath sprinkled her ambrosial sweets divine :
Or, else, I gaze upon that beauteous face,
o Amoret! and think these sweets have placc.
Now Summer has one foot from out the world,

Her golden mantle floating in the air;
And her love-darting eyes are backward hurled,

To bid adieu to this creation fair:
A flight of swallows circles her before,

And Zephyrus, her jolly harbinger, Already is a-wing to Heaven's door,

Whereat the Muses are expecting her ; And the three Graces, in their heavenly ring,

Are dancing with delicious harmony;
And Hebe doth her flowery chalice bring,

To sprinkle nectar on their melody:
Jove laughs to see his angel, Summer, cone,
Warbling his praise, to her immortal home.
The crimson Moon, uprising from the sea,

With large delight foretells the harvest near:
Ye shepherds, now prepare your melody,

To greet the soft appearance of her sphere ! And, like a page, enamoured of her train,

The star of evening glimmers in the west : Then raise, ye shepherds, your observant strain,

That so of the Great Shepherd here are blest! Our fields are full with the time-ripened grain,

Our vineyards with the purple clusters swell: Oak into verdure.' Parliament having, in 1793, opened Her golden splendour glimmers on the main, the university to Catholics, young Moore was sent

And vales and mountains her bright glory tell : to college, and distinguished himself by his classical Then sing, ye shepherds ! for the time is come acquirements. In 1799, while in his nineteenth year, When we must bring the enriched harvest home. he proceeded to London to study law in the Middle

Temple, and publish by subscription a translation of O Moon, that shinest on this heathy wild,

Anacreon. The latter appeared in the following And light'st the hill of Hastings with thy ray, year, dedicated to the Prince of Wales. At a subHow am I with thy sad delight beguiled,

sequent period, Mr Moore was among the keenest How hold with fond imagination play!

satirists of this prince, for which he has been accused By thy broad taper I call up the time

of ingratitude ; but he states himself that the whole When Harold on the bleeding verdure lay, amount of his obligations to his royal highness was Though great in glory, overstained with crime, the honour of dining twice at Carlton House, and

And fallen by his fate from kingly sway! being admitted to a great fête given by the prince On bleeding knights, and on war-broken arms, in 1811 on his being made regent. În 1803 Mr

Torn banners and the dying steeds you shone, Moore obtained an official situation at Bermuda, the When this fair England, and her peerless charms, duties of which were discharged by a deputy; and

And all, but honour, to the foe were gone! this subordinate proving unfaithful, the poet incurred Here died the king, whom his brave subjects chose, pecuniary losses to a large amount. Its first effect, But, dying, lay amid his Norman foes !

however, was two volumes of poetry, a series of

Odes and Epistles, published in 1806, and written THOMAS MOORE.

during an absence of fourteen months from Europe,

while the author visited Bermuda. The descriptive A rare union of wit and sensibility, of high powers sketches in this work are remarkable for their of imagination and extensive learning, has been exemplified in the poetical works of Thomas MOORE. dunce! • At the time,' says Mr Moore, when I first began to Mr Moore is a native of Dublin, where he was born attend his school, Mr Whyte still continued, to the no small on the 28th of May 1780. He early began to rhyme, alarm of many parents, to encourage a taste for acting among and a sonnet to his schoolmaster, Mr Samuel Whyte, his pupils. In this line I was long his favourite show-scholar; written in his fourteenth year, was published in a and among the play-bills introduoed in his volume, to illustrate Dublin magazine.* The parents of our poet were the occasions of his own prologues and epilogues, there is one of

& play got up in the year 1790, at Lady Borrowes's private * Mr Whyte was also the teacher of Sheridan, and it is theatre in Dublin, where, among the items of the evening's curious to learn that, after about a year's trial, Sherry was entertainment, is " An Epilogue, A Squeeze to St Paul's, Master pronounced, both by tutor and parent, to be an incorrigible | Moore."

[graphic]

Thomas More

.

fidelity, no less than their poetical beauty. The If in jail, all the better for out-of-door topics ; style of Moore was now formed, and in all his writ Your jail is for travellers a charming retreat ; ings there is nothing finer than the opening epistle They can take a day's rule for a trip to the Tropics, to Lord Strangford, written on board ship by moon And sail round the world, at their ease, in the Fleet. light:

For a dramatist, too, the most useful of schools Sweet Moon ! if, like Crotona's sage,

He can study high life in the King's Bench comBy any spell my hand could dare

munity; To make thy disk its ample page,

Aristotle could scarce keep him more within rules, And write my thoughts, my wishes there ;

And of place he, at least, must adhere to the unity. How many a friend whose careless eye

Any lady or gentleman come to an age Now wanders o'er that starry sky,

To have good ‘Reminiscences' (three score or Should smile upon thy orb to meet

higher), The recollection kind and sweet,

Will meet with encouragement so much per page, The reveries of fond regret,

And the spelling and grammar both found by the The promise never to forget,

buyer. And all my heart and soul would send To many a dear-loved, distant friend.

No matter with what their remembrance is stocked,

So they'll only remember the quantum desired ; Even now, delusive hope will steal

Enough to fill handsomely Two Volumes oct.,

Price twenty-four shillings, is all that's required. Amid the dark regrets I feel, Soothing as yonder placid beam

They may treat us, like Kelly, with old jeu d'esprits, Pursues the murmurers of the deep,

Like Dibdin, may tell of each fanciful frolic; And lights them with consoling gleam,

Or kindly inform us, like Madame Genlis,
And smiles them into tranquil sleep.

That ginger-beer cakes always give them the cholic.
Oh ! such a blessed night as this
I often think if friends were near,

Funds, Physic, Corn, Poetry, Boxing, Romance, How should we feel and gaze with bliss

All excellent subjects for turning a penny;
Upon the moon-bright scenery here !

To write upon all is an author's sole chance
The sea is like a silvery lake,

For attaining at last the least knowledge of any.
And o'er its calm the vessel glides,
Gently, as if it feared to wake

Nine times out of ten, if his title is good,
The slumber of the silent tides.

The material within of small consequence is; The only envious cloud that lowers

Let him only write fine, and if not understood, Hath hung its shade on Pico's height,

Why—that's the concern of the reader, not his. Where dimly 'mid the dusk he towers,

Nota Bene--an Essay, now printing, to show
And, scowling at this heaven of light, ,

That Horace, as clearly as words could express it, Exults to see the infant storm

Was for taxing the Fundholders, ages ago, Cling darkly round his giant form!

When he wrote thus,Quodcunque in Fund is, The warmth of the young poet's feelings and imagination led him in these epistles to make some In 1813 Mr Moore entered upon his noble poetislight trespasses on delicacy and decorum, and a cal and patriotic task-writing lyrics for the ancient second publication of poems, two years afterwards, music of his native country. His Irish Songs disunder the assumed name of Thomas Littlea playful played a fervour and pathos not found in his earlier allusion to his diminutive stature-aggravated this works, with the most exquisite melody and purity of offence of his muse. He has had the good sense to diction. An accomplished musician himself, it was be ashamed of these amatory Juvenilia, and genius the effort, he relates, to translate into language the enough to redeem the fault. Mr Moore now became emotions and passions which music appeared to him a satirist-not strong and masculine, like Dryden, to express, that first led to his writing any poetry nor possessed of the moral dignity of Pope—but lively worthy of the name. 'Dryden,' he adds, 'has hapand pungent, with abundance of humorous and witty pily described music as being "inarticulate poetry;" illustration. The man of the world, the scholar, and and I have always felt, in adapting words to an ex. the poetical artist, are happily blended in his satiri-pressive air, that I was bestowing upon it the gift of cal productions, with a rich and playful fancy. His articulation, and thus enabling it to speak to others Twopenny Postbag, The Fudge Family in Paris, Fables all that was conveyed, in its wordless eloquence, to for the Holy Alliance, and numerous small pieces myself.' Part of the inspiration must also be attriwritten for the newspapers on the passing topics of buted to national feelings. The old airs were conthe day, to serve the cause of the Whig or liberal secrated to recollections of the ancient glories, the party, are not excelled in their own peculiar walk valour, beauty, or sufferings of Ireland, and became by any satirical compositions in the language. It inseparably connected with such associations of is difficult to select a specimen of these exquisite the Irish Melodies, in connection with Mr Moore's productions without risk of giving offence; but per- songs, nine parts have been published in succession : haps the following may be found sufficiently irre, they are understood to have been materially useful proachable in this respect, at the same time that it to the poet's fortunes. Without detracting from the contains a full proportion of the wit and poignancy merits of the rest, it appears to us very forcibly, that distributed over all. It appeared at a time when an the particular ditties in which he delicately hints at abundance of mawkish reminiscences and memoirs the woes of his native country, and transmutes into had been showered from the press, and bore the verse the breathings of its unfortunate patriots, are title of . Literary Advertisement.

the most real in feeling, and therefore the best. This

particularly applies to When he who adores thee,' Wanted--Authors of all work to job for the season, Oh, blame not the bard,' and 'Oh, breathe not his

No matter which party, so faithful to neither; Good hacks, who, if posed for a rhyme or a reason, * According to the common reading, 'Quodcunque infundis, Can manage, like *******, to do without either.

acoscit.'

assess it."*

name; the first of which, referring evidently to the fancy of almost any other poet. It was amidst the fate of Mr Emmett, is as follows:

snows of two or three Derbyshire winters, he says, When he who adores thee has left but the name

while living in a lone cottage among the fields, that Of his fault and his sorrow behind,

he was enabled, by that concentration of thought Oh, say, wilt thou weep when they darken the fame which retirement alone gives, to call up around him Of a life that for thee was resigned?

some of the sunniest of those Eastern scenes which Yes, weep! and, however my foes may condemn,

have since been welcomed in India itself as almost Thy tears shall efface the decree;

native to its clime. The poet was a diligent stuFor Heaven can witness, though guilty to them,

dent, and his oriental reading was 'as good as riding I have been but too faithful to thee!

on the back of a camel.' The romance of Vathek'

alone equals · Lalla Rookh,' among English fictions, With thee were the dreams of my earliest love,

in local fidelity and completeness as an Eastern tale. Every thought of my reason was thine ;

After the

publication of his work, the poet set off In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above,

with Mr Rogers on a visit to Paris. The groups Thy name shall be mingled with mine!

of ridiculous English who were at that time swarmOh, blessed are the lovers and friends who shall live

ing in all directions throughout France,' supplied The days of thy glory to see ;

the materials for his satire entitled “The Fudge But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give,

Family in Paris,' which, in popularity, and the run Is the pride of thus dying for thee!

of successive editions, kept pace with 'Lalla Rookh.' Next to the patriotic songs stand those in which In 1819 Mr Moore made another journey to the & moral reflection is conveyed in that metaphorical continent in company with Lord John Russell, and form which only Moore has been able to realise in this furnished his Rhymes on the Road, a series of lyrics for music—as in the following exquisite ex

trifles often graceful and pleasing, but so conversaample:

tional and unstudied as to be little better (to use his

own words) than ‘prose fringed with rhyme.' From I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, Paris the poet and his companion proceeded by the

A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on: Simplon to Italy. Lord John took the route to I came, when the sun o'er that beach was declining-Genoa, and Mr Moore went on a visit to Lord Byron

The bark was still there, but the waters were gone. at Venice. On his return from this memorable tour, Ah! such is the fate of our life's early promise,

the poet took up his abode in Paris, where he reSo passing the spring-tide of joy we have known:

sided till about the close of the year 1822. He had Each wave that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us, become involved in pecuniary difficulties by the And leaves us, at eve, on the black shore alone.

conduct of the person who acted as his deputy at

Bermuda. His friends pressed forward with eager Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning

kindness to help to release him--one offering to place The close of our day, the calm eve of our night; £500 at his disposal ; but he came to the resolution Give me back, give me back, the wild freshness of of 'gratefully declining their offers, and endeavourmorning,

ing to work out his deliverance by his own efforts.' Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best In September 1822 he was informed that an arlight.

rangement had been made, and that he might with Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning, claims of the American merchants had been re

safety return to England. The amount of the When passion first waked a new life through his duced to the sum of one thousand guineas, and to

frame, And his soul—like the wood that grows precious in wards the payment of this the uncle of his deputy

a rich London merchant-had been brought to conburning

tribute £300. Gave out all its sweets to Love's exquisite flame!

A friend of the poet immediately

deposited in the hands of a banker the remaining In 1817 Mr Moore produced his most elaborate portion (£750), which was soon repaid by the gratepoem, Lalla Rookh, an oriental romance, the accuracy ful bard, who, in the June following, on receiving of which, as regards topographical, antiquarian, and his publisher's account, found £1000 placed to his characteristic details, has been vouched by nume- credit from the sale of the Loves of the Angels, and rous competent authorities. The poetry is brilliant £500 from the ‘Fables of the Holy Alliance. The and gorgeous-rich to excess with imagery and or- latter were partly written while Mr Moore was nament—and oppressive from its very sweetness and at Venice with Lord Byron, and were published splendour. Of the four tales which, connected by a under the nom de guerre of Thomas Brown. The slight narrative, like the ballad stories in Hogg's Loves of the Angels' was written in Paris. The Queen's Wake, constitute the entire poem, the most poem is founded on the Eastern story of the angels simple is Paradise and the Peri, and it is the one Harut and Marut, and the Rabbinical fictions of most frequently read and remembered. Still

, the the loves of Uzziel and Shamchazai,' with which first-The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan—though im- Mr Moore shadowed out the fall of the soul from probable and extravagant as a fiction, is a poem of its original purity-the loss of light and happiness great energy and power. The genius of the poet which it suffers in the pursuit of this world's perishmoves with grace and freedom under his load of able pleasures--and the punishments both from conEastern magnificence, and the reader is fascinated science and divine justice with which impurity, by his prolific fancy, and the scenes of loveliness and pride, and presumptuous inquiry into the awful splendour which are depicted with such vividness secrets of heaven are sure to be visited.' The and truth. Hazlitt says that Moore should not have stories of the three angels are related with gracewritten Lalla Rookh,'even for three thousand guincas ful tenderness and passion, but with too little of -the price understood to be paid by the booksellers 'the angelic air' about them. His latest imagifor the copyright. But if not a great poem, it is a native work is The Epicurean, an Eastern tale, marvellous work of art, and contains paintings of in prose, but full of the spirit and materials of local scenery and manners unsurpassed for fidelity poetry; and forming, perhaps, his highest and best and picturesque effect. The patient research and sustained flight in the regions of pure romance. extensive reading required to gather the materials, His lives of Sheridan and Byron we shall afterwards would have damped the spirit and extinguished the allude to in the list of biographical writers. Thus,

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