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which is essential to their just procedure, both in mat- | much which it is not the business of masters in mediters of speculation and of conduct. They would, in cal science to teach? And, think you, should we hear fine, impart to all classes of people, not those feverish such repeated complaints of the drowsiness and the impulses which impair intellectual vigor and foster an aridity of the pulpit, if preachers, less ambitious of eccentric zeal; but those healthful interests which are soaring to the Alpine heights of theology, spoke more congenial to moderation, to simplicity and to truth.' frequently the language of cultivated tastes, sympa

thies and affections; if, full of the momentous verities After some reflections on utilitarianism-reflections of the gospel, they were capable of imitating, however which we dissent from because we like utilitarianism;

inadequately, the varied song of David, the majestic and which therefore we shall not copy-Mr. G. has the eloquence of Paul, the seraphic fervor of Isaiah ?? following just and beautiful passage:

And let merchants of all sorts, mechanics, and farm‘How pervading is the sense of the beautiful, and ers, pay heedful attention to the following: how full of beautiful forms is this earth on which we are "But it is to those who are familiarly styled men of appointed to dwell! Who can look upon nature in her business, that liberal studies should be more particularly serene aspects and wonderful transformations, and not commended. Parents often withhold, from such of own it a glorious privilege to comprehend other than their sons as are intended for active life, an accomplishphilosophical relations, and to enjoy something beside ed education, because they believe that success in active ihe demonstrations of exact science ? At this season of life is rather hindered ihan promoted by the liberal pathetic loveliness,* who can look upon the memorials cultivation of the intellect. In accordance with this of the dying year, without confessing the power of im- belief, it is often said that merchants, manufacturers, agery to wake to an eloquent response the chords of and mechanics acquire no additional skill for the conhuman feeling?

duct of their business, by an acquaintance with general *This peculiar tendency of American society, which literature. And what if they do not? Were they born I have cursorily considered, would be exempt from the to be merchants, and manufacturers, and mechanics, and danger of excess, if liberal studies were permitted to nothing more? Are they not endowed, like other men, exert their full power of counteraction. Without ren with the higher faculties of their being, and should not dering us impatient of dull realities, they sometimes lift these faculties be exercised upon their proper objects ? us above them; they quicken within us the sensibilities They are not, it is true, candidates for literary distincof taste; they transport us into the region of hopes and Lion; but in whatever sphere they may chance to move fears; of the profound and the indefinite; they invite they are human beings, and why should they not be us to the contemplation of whatsoever is lovely in the rational well informed, refined human beings? If their sympathies of our common nature; splendid in the ordinary occupations be somewhat alien from the purconquests of intellect, or heroic in the trials of virtue.' suits of literaiure, this, of itself, is a cogent reason why

a taste for such pursuits should be the more carefully fosterLawyers, physicians, clergymen,-ought to read and ed. To the imperfect education of this large and valuponder well this paragraph :

able class in every community, may be ascribed the

otherwise inexplicable mistakes of men who stand 'Professional men, sometimes ready to sink under strong in the consciousness of rare practical sagacity. the pressure of unvaried mental effort, find that occa- What disastrous errors would such men avoid, if they sional excursions into the field of elegant literature gave more repose to their passions; and if, by emimpart renewed vigor to their exhausted powers. They ploying their minds upon a larger variety of objects, do not so much require complete exemption from toil, they sharpened their accuracy, and enlarged their comas counter excitement; and to men of refined tastes, this prehension !! species of excitement is abundantly supplied by those treasures of wisdom and of wit, and those capiivating

The concluding paragraph is pregnant with truth forms of expression, which lie without the boundaries and power: of exclusively professional study. Again, from the peculiar nature of their pursuits, and from the almost

"Well might I be deemed an unfaithful advocate of incessant attention which they demand, such men are liberal studies, if, in estimating their value, 1 yielded no liable to become somewhat narrow and perverse in their tribute of applause to the solid provision which they judgments. They cultivate few of the graceful sensi- make for independent individual happiness; for that bilities of their nature; they estrange themselves from happiness which is enjoyed, not so much amid the hum the regions of taste; they regale their imaginations and shock of men, as amid the solitude of nature and with no images of beauty. *There is perhaps no- of thought. Living in a land where “men act in thing," says one of the most original thinkers of the multitudes, think in multitudes, and are free in multiage," whích more enlarges or enriches the mind, than tudes,” we are constantly tempted to forget the myste. to lay it genially open to impressions of pleasure from rious individuality of our being; to go out of ourselves the exercise of every species of talent." In this dispo- for materials of enjoyment; to fritter away our sensisition, with rare exceptions, professional men are want- bilities, and to debilitate our understandings, amid the ing; and it is this disposition which liberal studies are false and hollow gaieties of the crowd. I contend for specially fitted to create. What a reproach attaches no severe estrangement from the joys of a chaste and to the lawyer who feels admiration for no science but elegant conviviality; for no exclusive intercourse with his own?t' What physician is thoroughly prepared for forms of inanimate beauty; for no fearful communion the practice of his profession, who has not learned with the mysteries of the inner spirit. But I deprecate

habits and tastes which are impatient of seclusion; • Autumn.-[Ed. Mess.

which destroy all true and simple relish for nature; + The precepts and the exemple of the celebrated James Ouis which scorn all quiet pleasures; which abhor alike the deserve to be commended to the attention of every young man composure and the scrutiny of meditation. As means who aspires to distinction at the Bar. We are told, by his bio. of reforming tastes and habits thus uncongenial to virgrapher, that, after leaving College, he devoted eighteen months lue and to happiness, I can hardly exaggerate the entering on the study of Jurisprudence. In a letter to his father, importance of liberal studies. I ascribe to them, howhe says, "I shall always lament that I did not take a year or ever, no power to teach rooted sorrow the lesson of two further for more general inquiries in the Arts and Sciences, submission ; to succor virtue amid mighty temptations; before I sat down to the laborious study of the laws of my counto dispel the awful sadness of the inevitable hour. try." He inculcated on his pupils as a maxim," that a lawyer These are the victories of christian faith ; the grand, ought never to be without a volume of natural or public law, or moral philosophy, on his table, or in his pocket."

and peculiar, and imperishable evidences of its power.

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ANDROMEDA.

Selection from Blackwood's Magazine for 1818.
Nisi quòd levis aura capillos
Moverat ; et trepido manarant lumina fletu
Marmoreum ratus esset opus.

Ovid.

ON THE POETRY OF
Entranced in woe, fair Cassiope's child,
The victim of a mother's wanton boast,

SCOTT, BYRON, AND WORDSWORTH,
Beheld the rugged crags that reared their wild
And threatening heads above the stormy coast;

The three great master-spirits of our day, in the And as she gazed upon the sea before,

poetical world, are Scott, Wordsworth, and Byron. In mockery through her bosom stole a host

But there never were minds more unlike to each other of pleasant memories, while with angry rvar

than theirs are, either in original conformation or in the The death-denouncing waves broke on the rocky shore. course of life. It is great and enduring glory to this

age, to have produced three poets,-of perfectly origiThe ample treasure of her raven locks

nal genius,-unallied to each other,-drinking inspiraIn darksome beauty streaming on the wind,

tion from fountains far aparı,—who have built up suUpon a pedestal of blackened rocks

perb structures of the imagination, of distinct orders Like Parian statue stood the maid, confined

of architecture,--and who may indeed be said to rule, By chains which marred the tender wrists they bound : each by a legitimate sovereignty, over separate and

The thoughts of home came thronging on her mind,.- powerful provinces in the kingdom of Mind.
Her bosom heaved, her eyes in tears were drowned,
And grief burst from her lips in sorrow's plaintive sound.

Though greatly inferior in many things to his illus

trious brethren, Scott is perhaps, after all, the most She thought of early childhood's summer hours,

unequivocally original. We do not know of any model of sportive glee beneath the myrtle shade,

after which ihe form of his principal poems has been of garlands wreathed for youthful friends in bowers

moulded. They bear no resemblance, and, we must of myrrhine sweets, through which her feet had strayed... allow, are far inferior to the heroic poems of Greece; Thought of her father's halls...the dance---the lay

nor do they, though he has been called the Ariosto of or minstrel, and the mellow Jute of maid...

the North, seem to us to resemble, in any way whatThen of her doom ; and saw with dread dismay

ever, any of the great poems of modern Italy. He The monster of the deep roll on, prepared to slay.

has given a most intensely real representation of the

living spirit of the chivalrous age of his country. He One piercing shriek of anguish wildly rose

has not shrouded the figures or the characters of his Above the moaning ocean---fear represt

heroes in high poetical lustre, so as to dazzle us by The hapless cry of agony, and froze

resplendent fictitious beings, shining through the scenes The fount of life within her virgin breast ;

and events of a half-imaginary world. They are as While from each starting orb, the tear-drops, o'er

much real men in his poetry, as the "mighty earls” of Her snowy bosom showering pearls, confessed

old are in our histories and annals. The incidents, 100, Her lorn despair, as rushing towards the shore

and events, are all wonderfully like those of real life; The ravenous monster seemed her beauty to explore. and when we add to this, that all the most interesting

and impressive superstitions and fancies of the times She trembled like an aspen; and the blood

are in his poetry incorporated and intertwined with the Was curdling in her veins, as mute she gazed

ordinary tissue of mere human existence, we feel ourUpon his bulk, now stretched upon the flood,

selves hurried from this our civilized age, back into the Now rolled in spires, as o'er the waves he raised troubled bosom of semibarbarous life, and made keen His towering crest, high gleaming in the air; And marked his eyes, which lik partakers in all its impassioned and poetical credulities

. two meteors blazed Upon his burnished front, with their red glare

His poems are historical narrations, true in all things

to the spirit of history, but everywhere overspread Portending darksome death, destruction and despair.

with those bright and breathing colors which only Still onward rolled the portent, till his breath

genius can bestow on reality; and when it is recollected, Came warm upon her, and his nostrils shed

that the times in which his scenes are laid and his heThe dewy brine; and armed with pointed death

roes act were distinguished by many of the most enero Appeared the jagged teeth within bis dread

getic virtues that can grace or dignify the character of And terrible jawg, expanded to devour;

a free people, and marked by the operation of great When from the upper air flashed on her head

passions and important events, every one must feel that A sudden light, and, in that fearful hour,

ihe poetry of Walter Scott is, in the noblest sense of An unseen arm was raised that broke the monster's power.

the word, national; that it breathes upon us the bold

and heroic spirit of perturbed but magnificent ages, E'en as his giant body smote the sand,

and connects us, in the midst of philosophy, science

, Swift rushing from the foam-engirdled tide,

and refinement, with our turbulent but 'high-minded With nostrils spread but breathless on the sand

ancestors, of whom we have no cause to be ashamed, He lay immense,.--with jaws expanded wide...

whether looked on in the fields of war or in the halls And sinews bent...but rigid as the pile

of peace. He is a true knight in all things,-free, of endless crage, that, reared on either side

courteous, and brave. War, as he describes it, is a With everlasting adamant did uile

noble game, a kingly pastime. He is the greatest of The rocky ramparts of the sea-defying isle.

all war-poels. His poetry might make a very coward

fearless. In Marmion, the battle of Flodden agitates experience, gives to all his poetry, a very peculiar, a us with all the terror of a fatal overthrow. In the Lord very endearing, and, at the same time, a very lofty of the Isles, we read of the field of Bannockburn with character. His poetry is little colored by the artificial clenched hands and fiery spirits, as if the English were distinctions of society. In his delineations of passion still our enemies, and we were victorious over their or character, he is not so much guided by the varieties invading king. There is not much of all this in any produced by customs, institutions, professions, or modes modern poetry but his own; and therefore it is, that, of life, as by those great elementary laws of our nature independently of all his other manifold excellences, which are unchangeable and the same; and therefore we glory in him as the great modern National Poet of the pathos and the truth of his most felicitous poetry Scotland, -in whom old times revive, --- whose poetry, are more profound than of any other, not unlike the prevents history from becoming that which, in times of most touching and beautiful passages in the sacred excessive refinement, it is often too apt to become a page. The same spirit of love, and benignity, and dead letter,--and keeps the animating and heroic spec- etherial purity, which breathes over all his pictures of tacles of the past moving brightly across our every-day the virtues and the happiness of man, pervades those world, and flashing out from them a kindling power too of external nature. Indeed, all the poets of the over the actions and characters of our own age. age, -and none can dispute that they must likewise be

Byron is in all respects the very opposite of Scott. the best critics,—have given up to him the palm in that He never dreams of wholly giving up his mind to the poetry which commerces with ihe forms, and hues, and influence of the actions of men, or the events of his- odors, and sounds, of the material world. He has tory. He lets the world roll on, and eyes its wide- brightened the earth we inhabit to our eyes; he has weltering and tumultuous waves-even the calamitous made it more musical to our ears; he has rendered it shipwrecks that strew its darkness—with a stern and more creative to our imaginations. sometimes even pitiless misanthrophy. He cannot sympathise with the ordinary joys or sorrows of humanity, even though intense and overpowering. They must live and work in intellect and by intellect, before they seem worthy of the sympathy of his impenetrable soul. His idea of man, in the abstract, is boundless

LORD BYRON'S FAULTS. and magnificent; but of men, as individuals, he thinks with derision and contempt. Hence he is in one stanza [The merits of Lord Byron have been sufficiently a sublime moralist, elevated and transported by the trumpeted. No penner of choice verses in a lady's aldignity of human nature; in the next a paltry satirist, bum, but has the oft-quoted beauties of Childe Harold, sneering at its meanness. Hence he is unwilling to The Giaour, and The Bride of Abydos, at his fingers' yield love or reverence to any thing that has yet life; for life seems to sink the little that is noble into the ends. No literary dandy, who draws his morality and degradation of the much that is vile. The dead, and his prettinesses of speech from Bulwer, but lisps with the dead only, are the objects of his reverence or his equal fondness and familiarity though less knowledge, love; for death separates the dead from all connexion, the euphonious name of 'Byron. It is now time to all intimacy with the living; and the memories of the hear the other side. That our readers may in part do so, great or good alone live in the past, which is a world of ashes. Byron looks back to the tombs of those great we cull from our old Blackwood the following severe men "that stand in assured rest ;” and gazing, as it letter addressed to his Lordship, by a stern moralist, were, on the bones of a more gigantic race, his imagi- whose castigation is the more just and effectual, as he nation then leems with corresponding births, and he evidently holds the powers of the noble poet in the holds converse with the mighty in language worthy to be heard by the spirits of the mighty. It is in this con

highest esteem.—Ed. Mess.] trast between his august conceptions of man, and his

TO THE AUTHOR OF BEPPO. contemptuous opinion of men, that much of the almost incomprehensible charm, and power, and enchantment My Lord, -It has for many years been almost imposof his poetry exists. We feel ourselves alternately sible that any thing should increase my contempt for sunk and elevated, as if the hand of an invisible being the professional critics of this country; otherwise the had command over us. At one time we are a lille manner in which these persons have conducted them. lower than the angels; in another, but little higher selves towards your Lordship, would, most certainly, than the worms. We feel that our elevation and our have produced that effect. The hyperboles of their disgrace are alike the lot of our nature ; and hence the sneaking adulation, in spite of the far-off disdain with poetry of Byron, as we before remarked, is read as a which you scem to regard them, have probably reached, dark, but still a divine revelation.

long ago, the vanity of the poet, and touched, with If Byron be altogether unlike Scott, Wordsworth is a chilling poison, some of the better feelings of the yet more unlike Byron. With all the great and essen I have formed, however, a very mistaken opiial faculties of the poet, he possesses the calm and nion of your character, if, conscious as you still are of self-commanding powers of the philosopher. He looks the full vigor of youthful genius, you can allow yourover buman life with a steady and serene eye; he lis- self to be permanently satisfied, either with the subjects tens with a fine ear "to the still sad music of humani- or the sources of the commendation which has been ty." His faith is unshaken in the prevalence of virtue poured upon you. If you feel not within yourself a orer vice, and of happiness over misery; and in the strong and tormenting conviction, that as yet you have eristence of a heavenly law operating on earth, and, done little more than exhibit to the world, the melanin spite of transitory defeats, always visibly triumphant choly spectacle of a great spirit, self-embittered, selfin the grand field of human warfare. Hence he looks wasted, and self-degraded, “if, in your solitary moover the world of life, and man, with a sublime benig. ments, there shoot not sometimes across your giddy nity; and hence, delighting in all the gracious dispen. brain, the lightnings of a self-abhorrent and unhyposations of God, his great mind can wholly deliver itself critical remorse, the progress of the mental paralysis up to the love of a flower budd in the field, or of a has been more deadly than I had been willing to beehild asleep in its cradle; nor, in doing so, feels that lieve ;--but even then, a friend of charity and of poetry can be said to stoop or to descend, much less virtue may expect a ready pardon for having hoped to be degraded, when she imbodies, in words of music, too much, and for having spoken to you in vain. the purest and most delightful fancies and affections of To few men, either in ancient or in modern times, the human heart. This love of the nature to which he has been afforded an opening destiny more fortunate belongs, and which is in him the fruit of wisdom and than yours. Sprung from a long line of generous ca

man.

valiers, and inheriting from them a name to which no, method of retrieving them. The compliment which I English ear could listen without respect,--and, adding pay to your genius, in supposing, that, even under any to these, the advantages of a graceful person and a diversity of circumstances, you might have become the powerful genius,—where was that object of worthy rival of those master-spirits with whom you have as ambition which could have appeared to be beyord the yet been so unworthy of comparison, is assuredly a wishes or the hopes of Byron? You chose to build great one. Of all that read my letter, none will unyour fame upon poetry, and your choice was wise. derstand its weight so well as you: none will so readily The names of Marlborough, Nelson, Chatham, Pitt, confess that it verges upon extravagance, or be so apt Fox, and Burke,- what, after all, are these when to accuse of unconscious flattery the admonisher that compared with those of Spenser, Shakspeare, and Mil-has bestowed it. ton ? To add another name to the greai trio of English It is not my purpose (for from me to you such a dispoets, and to share the eternal sovereignty which these quisition would be absurd) to describe, or to attempt to majestic spirits exert over the souls of the most free, describe, to your Lordship, wherein your productions and the most virtuous of people, this was indeed a and your spirit differ from those of the great poets that high and noble ambition, and the envy of kings might have preceded you. I am not of the opinion of certain have been due to its gratification. Such were the modern sophists, who affect to try every thing in poetry proud aspirings that a few years ago possessed your by the rules of logic. I feel, and so does every man of mind, and your countrymen were eager to believe and common understanding, that if you were born with the to proclaim the probability of your success. Alas! my elements of heroic growth within you, your stature has Lord, when you reflect upon what you have done, and been stunted; and that, when brought into contact upon what you are, when you remember with what with those whom perhaps you might have emulated, wanton hypocrisy you have iortured our feelings, and you are but a pigmy among a band of giants. One with what cool contemptuousness you have insulted great distinction, however, between you and them, as it our principles,—you cannot scruple to confess, that the relates not to your art alone, but to the interests and people of England have been shamefully abused, and welfare of those to whom that art addresses itself, a are, with justice, disappointed.

plain man, who makes no pretensions to the character I admire the natural splendor of your genius as much of a poet, but who loves and venerates the nature of as the most violent of your slavish eulogists. I do which he is partaker, hopes he may notice in a few more-I reverence it ; and I sigh with the humility of a words, without giving just offence either to you or your worshipper, over the degradation of its divinity. The admirers. Your predecessors, in one word, my Lord, ideas which you must have of the true greatness of a have been the friends-you are the enemy of your poet, are, doubtless, very different from those of ordina- species. You have transferred into the higher departry mortals. You have climbed far up among the crags ments of poetry (or you have at least endeavored to and precipices of the sacred hill, and have caught some transfer) that spirit of mockery, misanthropy, and conglimpses of their glory who repose amidst the eternal tempt, which the great bards of elder times left to serenity of its majestic summit. It is not necessary to preside over the humbler walk of the satirist and the tell you by what an immeasurable space your loftiest cynic. The calm respect which these men felt for flights have as yet fallen short of the unseen soarings themselves, inspired them with sympathetic reverence of the illustrious dead. You know and feel your supe. for their brethren. They perceived, indeed, the foibles riority to the herd of men; but the enviable elevation and the frailties of humanity, and they depicted, at least which enables you to look down upon them, convinces as well as you have ever done, the madness of the you at the same time of your inferiority to those, who senses and the waywardness of the passions; but they sit together in unapproached greatness, the few peerless took care to vindicate the original dignity of their na: spirits, alone among men and among poets, - HOMER, cure, and contrasted their representations of the vice Dante, and the British THREE. Distances and distinc- and weakness, which they observed in some, with the tions which are lost to weaker and remoter optics are more cheering spectacle of the strength and the virtue, seen and penetrated by your more favored eye. Be whose stirrings they felt within themselves, and whose holding, as you do, Alps on Alps rising beyond you, workings they centemplated in others. Conscious of even the gratification of your self-love cannot prevent the glorious union of intellectual grandeur and moral you from contemning their voice, who would extol you purity within, they pitied the errors of other men; but as having already reached the utmost limit of ascension. they were not shaken from their reverence for the geneNor will this contempt for their foolish judgment be ral character of man. Instead of raving with demonilessened by the consciousness, which I believe you feel, acal satisfaction about the worthlessness of our molives that your progress might have been more worthy of and the nothingness of our attainments, they strove, their admiration, had you not clogged your march with by showing us what we might be and what we had needless fetters, and loitered perversely beneath difficul- been, to make us what we should be. They drew ties, which, by a bold effort, you might for ever have the portraits of wrath, jealousy and hatred, only that

we might appreciate more justly the kindly feelings In spite, then, of the shouts of vulgar approbation, which these fierce passions expel from the rightful posyou feel, my Lord, a solitary and unrevealed conviction, sessions of our bosom. They took our nature as it is

, that you have not as yet done any thing which can give but it was for the purpose of improving it: they sung you a permanent title to being associated with the de- of our miseries and our tumults in noble strains, migods of poetry. This conviction, to a spirit so

“Not wanting power to mitigate and swage haughty as yours, must be bitterness and wormwood.

With solemn touches troubled thoughts, and chace To others it might afford no trivial consolation to know, Anguish, and doubt, and fear and sorrow, and pain, that although, since poetry began, scarcely one age has

From mortal or immortal minds." passed which did not suppose itself to be in possession With the names of Spenser, SHAKSPEARE, MILTON, of a first-rate poet, the names of those whose claims to we associate the idea of our nature in its earthly per that character the world has ratified, may all be written fection,—of love, pure, tender, and etherial, -of intelwith a single drop of ink. But you, unless you be a lect, serene and contemplative, -of virtue, unbending greater hypocrite than even I suppose you, have that and sublime. As the Venus, the Apollo, and the Theseus, within which would make you prefer total obscurity to are to our bodies, the memories of these men are to our any fame that falls short of the most splendid. "By minds, the symbols and the standards of beauty and of comparing the nature of your own with that of more power. The contemplation of them refines and ennoglorious productions,-above all, by observing the con-bles those who inherit their language. The land that irast which your own character affords to that of great has given birth to such ministers of patriotism and of er poets,-you may perhaps discover somewhat, both virtue, fears not that the sacred flame should expire of the cause of your failures, and of the probable upon her altars. We are proud of England, because

overcome.

she produced them, and we shrink from degradation, and unobtrusive individual? You must share the fate of lest their silent manes should reproach us.

your brethren, and abide the judgment of the spectaHad it been your destiny to live two centuries ago, tors. Having assumed for our amusement, these gaudy and in the place of these illustrious spirits, to form the trappings, you must not hope to screen your blunders national poetry of England, how miserably different from our castigation, by a sudden and prudish retreat had been, with regard to you and to themselves, the feel- into a less glittering costume. You have made your ings of your countrymen! In all your writings, how election.—The simile which I have employed may aplitele is there whose object it is to make us reverence pear inept to many; of these, I well know your Lordvirtue, or love our country! You never teach us to ship is not one. despise earthly sufferings, in the hope of eternal hap You made your debut in the utmost dignity and piness. With respect to all that is best and greatest in sadness of the Cothurnus. You were the most luguihe nature and fate of man, you preserve not merely a brious of mortals; it was the main ambition of your sorrowful, but a sullen silence. Your poetry need not vanity to attract to your matchless sorrows the overhave been greatly different from what it is, although flowing sympathies of the world. We gave you credit you had lived and died in the midst of a generation of for being sincere in your affliction. We looked upon heartless, vicious, and unbelieving demons. With you, you as the victim of more than human misery, and heroism is lunacy, philosophy folly, virtue a cheat, and sympathized with the extravagance of your public and religion a bubble. Your man is a stern, cruel, jealous, uncontrollable lamentations. It is true that no one revengeful, contempluous, hopeless, solitary savage. knew whence your sorrow had sprung, but we were Your woman is a blind, devoted, heedless, beautiful generous in our compassion, and asked few questions. minister and victim of lust. The past is a vain record, în time, however, we have become less credulous and and the present a fleeting theatre of misery and mad- more inquisitive; the farce was so often renewed, that ness: the future one blank of horrid darkness, whereon we became weary of its wonders ; we have come to your mind floats and fluctuates in a cheerless uncertain suspect at last, that whatever sorrows you may have, iy, between annihilation and despair.

they are all of your own creating; and that, whenceThe interest which you have found means to excite soever they may be, they are at least neither of so for the dismal creations of your poetry, is proof abun- uniform nor of so majestic a character as you would dant of the vigor of your genius, but should afford small fain have had us to suppose. consolation to your conscience-stricken mind. You are There was indeed something not a little affecting in a skilful swordsman; but you have made use of poison- the spectacle of youth, nobility, and genius, doomed to ed weapons, and the deadliness of your wound gives no a perpetual sighing over the treachery of earthly hopes, addition to your valor. You have done what greater and the vanity of earthly enjoyments. Admitting, as and better men despised to do. You have brought we did to its full extent, the depth of your woes, it is yourself down to the level of that part of our erring no wonder that we were lenient critics of the works of and corrupted nature, which it was their pride and pri- such a peerless sufferer. We reverenced your mournful vilege to banish from the recollection and the sympathy muse; we were willing to believe that, if such was her of those to whom they spake. In the great struggle be- power in the midst of tears, a brighter fortune would iween the good and the evil principle, you have taken the have made it unrivalled and irresistible. The forlornwrong side, and you enjoy the worthless popularity of ness of your bosom gained you the forbearance of the a daring rebel. But hope not that the calm judgment most unrelenting judges. Every thing was pardoned of posterity will ratify the hasty honors which you have to the chosen victim of destiny. We regarded you as extorted from the passions of your contemporaries. the very masterpiece and symbol of affliction, and Believe me, men are not upon the whole quite so un- looked up to you the more that your glory had been principled, --nor women quite so foolish,-nor virtue so withereduseless,--por religion so absurd,,nor deception so last

“ As when Heaven's fire ing,—nor hypocrisy so triumphant,-as your Lordship

Had scathed the forest oak, or mountain pine,

With singed top his stately growth, though bare, has been pleased to fancy. A day of terrible retribution

Stands on the blasted heath.” will arrive, and the punishment inflicted may not improbably consist of things the most unwelcome to a poet's Although, however, we at the time believed what view-the scorn of many, and the neglect of all. 'Even you told us, and opened all the stores of our pity to now, among the serious and reflective part of the men your moving tale, we have not been able to abstain, in and the women of England, your poetry is read, indeed, the sequel, from considering somewhat more calmly the and admired, but you yourself are never talked of items of its horror. The first thing which made us except with mingled emotions of anger and pity. With suspect that we had been played upon, was the vehewhai pain do the high spirits of your virtuous and mence of your outcries. If your account of yourself heroic ancestors contemplate the degradation of their were a true one, your heart was broken. You decked descendant. Alas! that the genius which might have yourself in the sable trappings of a Hamlet, and, like ennobled any name, should have only assisted you to him, you were free to confess that “the earth seemed stamp a more lasting stain upon the pure, the generous, to you only a sterile promontory, and the goodly canopy the patriotic, the English name of Byron.

of heaven a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. Any other poet might complain with justice, should You had no pleasure in man, no! nor, for all our smihe see remarks of a personal nature mixed up with a ling, in woman neither.” You stood like another criticism upon his writings. You, my Lord, can scarce. Niobe, a cold and marble statue, frozen by despair ly flatter yourself that you have any right to expect amidst the ruin of your hopes. Had your sorrow been such forbearance. If the scrutiny of the world be dis- so deep, my Lord, its echoes had been lower. The dig. agreeable to you, either in its operation or in its effects, nified sufferer needs no circle of listeners to fan, by you need blame no one but yourself

. We were well their responding breath, the expiring embers of misery. enough disposed to treat you with distant respect, but Poetry was born within you, and you must have made you have courted and demanded our gaze. You have it the companion of your afflictions; but your lyre, bared your bosom when no man entreated you; it is like that of the bereaved hero of old, would have uttered your own fault if we have seen there not the scars of lonely and unobtrusive notes, had your fingers, like his, honorable wounds, but the festering blackness of a been touched with the real tremblings of agony. A loathsome disease. You have been the vainest and the truly glorious spirit, sunk in sorrow such as you asmost egotistical of poets. You have made yourself sumed, might have well deserved the silent veneration your only theme; shall we not dare to dissect the hero, of its more lowly and more happy contemplators. But because, forsooth, he and his poet are the same ? You it would neither have courted their notice, nor enjoyed have debased your nobility by strutting upon the stage; their sympathy. Alone, in its gigantic wretched ness, shall we still be expected to talk of you as of a private it would have scorned to lay its troubles open to the

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