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She all night long her am'rous descant sung;
Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament
With living sapphires: Hesperus that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon
Rising in clouded majesty, at length .

Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw."

And what favourites are some of these descriptions: their solemnity sways the spirit; we can never too often repeat them; they are ever fresh. That sublime discourse put into the mouth of Adam, upon man's nearness to the spiritual world, we quote; we treasure it in our hearts as well as our memories. We long to believe the doctrine of it, that the angels are not far from us—that they sometimes cross our path. We retain in our spirits some hints of our kindred to the world of souls; and by ourselves at night, in silence, or by the bed of death, or in the gloomy solitude in the day time, we find ourselves repeating—

"Millions of spiritual creatures walk this earth,
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep:
And these with ceaseless praise His works behold,
Both day and night. How often from the steep
Of echoing hill, or thicket, have we heard
Celestial voices in the midnight air,
Sole, or responsive to each other's note,
Singing thoir great Creator! oft in bands,

While they keep watoh, or nightly rounding walk,
With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds
In full harmonious number joined, their songs
Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to heaven."

Who does not love to read some of those lines, which blow to us, as on a gale, the freshness of the morning!

"Now Morn, her rosy steps in th' Eastern climo Advancing, sow'd the earth with Orient pearl."

And that invocation to arise from slumber—

"Awake—the morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls us ; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed;
How Nature paints her colours, how this bee
Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweet."

This poetry, rich, delightful, accessible to the understanding, we would wish to find its way to the home of most persons into whose hands this book may chance to come. But there are other things more intrinsically magnificent. Let the reader look at the places described. What a sublime horror hangs over the infernal world! Did light and shade ever meet in this dreadful unison before? "A scene as though Switzerland were set on fire," says George Gilfillan. Yes! that is the picture,—and it is only by such an image before the eye that the reader can ever dimly realise this dreadful world. The awful plain prepared by Almighty vengeance is girt with vast and horrid rocks; we hear the rush of fiery streams; and far off, on peak beyond peak, we catch the dim trembling of the vivid lightning; there is no light in this world; there is no darkness,—it is " darkness visible."

"A dungeon, horrible on all sides round.
As one great furnace flamed;
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never come."

The imagination diffuses itself over a world yet lying beyond the immediate theatre of action—a world of alternate frost and fire. Infernal Heclas—vast and wide. Away we are borne on through the latitudes and longitudes of Hell.

"Rocks, caves, lakes, seas, bogs, dens, and shades of death;

A universe of death,

Where all life dies, death lives, and Nature breeds

Perverse."

A territory unpeopled. Alas! all the scheme of the poem turns upon those damned agencies by which the world of horror and of woe should be crowded with victims. Upon a hill, a grizly and volcanic cone, rich in precious metals, rises the Palace Chamber, the Council Hall, the Valhalla of these lost spirits. The terrible Pandemonium ;—thither, * where enwombed lay the heaps of gold, and silver, Mammon led the way. The hill opened out its ribs, the solid gold is dug.

"Let none admire
That riches grow in Hell; that soil may best
Deserve the precious bane. And here let those
Who boast in mortal things, and wond'ring tell
Of Babel, and the works of Memphian kings,
Learn how their greatest monuments of fame,
And strength, and art, are easily outdone
By spirits reprobate, and in an hour
What in an age they with incessant toil
And hands innumerable scarce perform.
Nigh on the plain in many cells prepared,
That underneath had veins of liquid fire
Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude
With wond'rous art founded tho massy ore,
Severing each kind, and scumm'd the bullion dross j
A third as soon had form'd within the ground
A various mould, and from the boiling cells
By strange conveyance fill'd each hollow nook,
As in an organ, from one blast of wind,
To many a row of pipes, the sound-board breathes.
Anon out of the earth a fabric huge
Bose like an exhalation, with the sound

Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet,

Built like a temple, where pilasters round

Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid

With golden architrave; nor did they want

Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures grav'n:

The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon,

Nor great Alcairo such magnificence

Equall'd in all their glories, to inshrine

Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat

Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove

In wealth and luxury. Th' ascending pile

Stood fix'd her stately height ; and straight the doors,

Op'ning their brazen folds, discover wide

Within her ample spaces, o'er the smooth

And level pavement. From the arched roof,

Pendant by subtle magic, many a row

Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed

With naptha and asphaltas, yielded light

As from a sky."

From Pandemonium we fly to Paradise; and as every figure in the description of Hell, heightens some previous horror, and adds to the weight of some already oppressing sense of woe, so in Eden every image heightens our idea of enjoyment; all is Oriental and wild. The space is not so vast as that of Hell; it is locked in by careful enclosures; and here there are but two inhabitants, and those to be soon banished ; while the population of Hell, already immense, is to increase with the roll of ages. But Eden—it is a wilderness of beauty; what

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