She died-I dare not tell thee how, "But look-'tis written on my brow! "There read of Cain the curse and crime, "In characters unworn by time : "Still, ere thou dost condemn me-pause- "Had she been false to more than one; "The death shot peal'd of murder near "As filed the troop to where they fell." p. 33, 34. "The cold in clime are cold in blood, "Their love can scarce deserve the name; "But mine was like the lava flood* "That boils in Etna's breast of flame, "I cannot prate in puling strain "Of ladye-love, and beauty's chain; "If changing cheek-and scorching vein― ""Tis true I could not whine nor sigh, "I knew but to obtain or die, It should be though I the cause '-mine has no meaning, or quite different one from what the author obviously intended. "I die-but first I have possest, "And come what may, I have been blest; "Even now alone, yet undismay'd, "(I know no friend, and ask no aid,) "But for the thought of Leila slain, "Give me the pleasure with the pain, "So would I live and love again. "I grieve, but not, my holy guide! "For him who dies, but her who died; "She sleeps beneath the wandering wave, "Ah! had she but an earthly grave, "This breaking heart and throbbing head "Should seek and share her narrow bed."' p. 35, 37. These, in our opinion, are the most beautiful passages of the poem-and some of them of a beauty which it would not be easy to eclipse by many citations in the langage. Different readers, however, may think differently. There is infinite beauty and effect, though of a painful and almost oppressive character, in the following extraordinary passage; in which the author has illustrated the beautiful, but still and melancholy aspect of the once busy and glorious shores of Greece, by an image more true, more mournful, and more exquisitely finished, than any that we can now recollect in the whole compass of poetry. He who hath bent him o'er the dead, Ere the first day of death is fled; The last of danger and distress; Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) And mark'd the mild angelic air The rapture of repose that's there The fixed yet tender traits that streak That fires not-wins not-weeps not-now- And curdles to the gazer's heart; As if to him it could impart The doum he dreads yet dwells upon- Some moments--aye-one treacherous hour, We start for soul is wanting there. That parts not quite with parting breath; But beauty with that fearful bloom, That bue which haunts it to the tomb Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay, The fare well beam of Feeling past away! Spark of that flame-perchance of heavenly birth Which gleams-but warms no more its cherished earth! p 3-5 The Oriental costume is preserved, as might be expected, with admirable fidelity, through the whole of this poem, and the Turkish original of the tale is attested, to all but the bolder sceptics. of literature, by the great variety of untranslated words which perplex the unlearned reader in the course of these fragments. Kiosks, Caiques and Muezzins, indeed, are articles with which all readers of modern travels are forced to be pretty familiar; but Chiaus, palampore, and ataghan, are rather more puzzling: they are well sounding words, however; and as they probably express things for which we have no appropriate words of our own, But we cannot we shall not now object to their introduction. extend the same indulgence to Phingari, which signifies merely the moon; which, though an humble monosyllable, we maintain to be a very good word either for verse or prose, and can, on no account, allow to be supplanted, at this time of day, by any such new and unchristian appellation. The faults of diction which may be charged against the noble author, are sufficiently apparent in several of the passages we have quoted, and need not be farther specified. They are faults, some of them of carelessness, and some, we think, of bad tastebut as they are not very flagrant in either way, it would probably do the author no good to point them out particularly to his notice. The former, we suspect, he would not take the trouble to correct and of the existence of the latter we are not sure that we should easily convince him. We hope, however, that he will go on, and give us more fragments from his Oriental collections; and powerful as he is in the expression of the darker passions and more gloomy emotions from which the energy and the terrors of poetry are chiefly derived, we own we should like now and then to meet in his pages with something more cheerful, more amiable, and more tender. The most delightful, and, after all, the most poetical of all illusions are those by which human happiness and human virtue and affection are magnified beyond their natural dimensions, and represented in purer and brighter colours than nature can furnish, even to partial observation. Such enchanting pictures not only gladden life by the glories which they pour on the imagination-but exalt and improve it, by raising the standard both of excellence and enjoyment beyond the vulgar level of sober precept and actual example; and produce on the ages and countries which they adorn, something of the same effect, with the occasional occurrence of great and heroic characters in real life— those moral avatars, by whose successive advents the dignity of our nature is maintained against a long series of degradations, and its divine original and high destination made palpable to the feelings of all to whom it belongs. The sterner and more terrible poetry which is conversant with the guilty and vindictive passions, is not indeed without its use both in purging and exalting the soul: But the delight which it yields is of a less pure, and more overpowering nature; snd the impressions which it leaves. behind are of a more dangerous and ambiguous tendency. Energy of character and intensity of emotion are sublime in them. selves, and attractive in the highest degree as objects of admira tion; but the admiration which they excite, when presented in combination with worthlessness and guilt, is one of the most powerful corrupters and perverters of our moral nature; and is the more to be lamented, as it is most apt to exert its influence on the noblest characters. The poetry of Lord Byron is full of this perversion; and it is because we conceive it capable of producing other and still more delightful sensations than those of admiration, that we wish to see it employed upon subjects less gloomy and revolting than those to which it has hitherto been almost exclusively devoted. EXTRACT FROM THE BIOGRAPHY OF FISHER AMES, ESQ. Am. Ed. of Edin. En. Vol. 1, part 2, p. 674. MR. AMES' speech on the appropriations for carrying into effect the British treaty, was certainly the most august and resplendent exhibition of his talents; and may almost be regarded as constituting an epoch in modern eloquence. An English gentleman of distinguished attainments, who was present on the occasion, frankly acknowledged, that it surpassed in effect, any thing he had ever heard in the British Parliament. He even preferred it to Sheridan's celebrated speech in the case of Warren Hastings. It had, perhaps, more of the irresistible sway, the soul-subduing influence of ancient eloquence, than any thing that has been heard since the days of Cicero. The circumstan⚫ ces attending its delivery were peculiar. A brief recital of them will not, we flatter ourselves, be deemed uninteresting, or regarded as a departure from the duty of the Biographer. |