ges & material which it reque no little labour to reduce into still forms,-a truth of which the edits were, above all others, well tinually aware. For although theas naturally suggest happy exssions, yet the latter are, as it were, insulated traits or features, which were much management in the ing, and the art of the composer seen in the symmetry of the whole structure. Now, in many respects Mr Coleridge seems too anxious to enjoy the advantages of an inspired writer, and to produce his poetry at once in its perfect form-like the palaces which spring out of the desert in complete splendour at a single rubbing of winds the lamp in the Arabian Tale. But aeftiness above all is necessary to a he poet in these latter days, when the ordinary medium through which things viewed is so very far from being poetical and when the natural strain scarcely any man's associations can thespected to be of that sort which is takin to high and poetical feeling. There is no question there are many, many passages in the poetry of this writer, which shew what excelnt things may be done under the pulse of a happy moment-pasgs in which the language above all ing has such aerial graces as w have been utterly beyond the sach of any person who might have empted to produce the like, without Ning able to lift his spirit into the smd ecstatic mood. It is not to be Bail, however, that among the of his poems there are only a Sew in the composition of which he s to have been blessed all throughut with the same sustaining energy of Afflatus The Mariner we need not -is one of these. The poem Love is another and were Christabel comMeted as it has been begun, we doubt hot it would be allowed by all who are apable of tasting the merits of such pory, to be a third-and, perhaps, the most splendid of the three. It is impossible to gather from the which has been published any option of what is the meditated nclusion of the story of Christabel. Incidents can never be fairly judged till we know what they lead to. those which occur in the first and woond cantos of this poem, there is doubt many appear you t Mange and disagree the ith ada o the r the remainder comes forth to plain them, the better One thing vident, that no man need sit down to read Christabel with any prospect of gratification, whose mind has not rejoiced habitually in the luxury of Visionary and superstitious reveries. He that is determined to try every thing by the standard of what is called comIron sense, and who has an aversion to admit, even in poetry, of the existnce of things more than are dreamt of in philosophy, had better not open this production, which is only proper for a solitary couch and a midnight taper. Mr Coleridge is the prince of superstitious poets; and he that does not read Christabel with a strange and harrowing feeling of mysterious dread, may be assured that his soul is made of impenetrable stuff. The circumstances with which the poem opens are admirably conceived. There is in all the images introduced a certain fearful stillness and ominous meaning, the effect of which can never be forgotten. The language, also, is so much in harmony with the rude era of the tale, that it seems scarcely to have been written in the present age, and is indeed a wonderful proof of what genius can effect, in defiance of unfavourable associations. Whoever has had his mind penetrated with the true expression of a Gothic building, will find a similar impression conveyed by the vein of language employed in this legend. The manners, also, and forms of courtesy ascribed to the personages, are full of solemn grace. -He kissed her forehead as he spake ; And Geraldine, in maiden wise, Casting down her large bright eyes, With blushing cheek and courtesy fine, Turned her from Sir Leoline; Softly gathering up her train, That o'er her right arm fell again, And folded her arms across her chest, And couched her head upon her breast. This is only one little example of the antique stateliness that breathes over the whole of their demeanour. But if these things are not perceived by the reader, it is altogether in vain to point them out to him. long-estranged friend of his youth, Sir Roland De Vaux of Triermaine,is some evil being; whether demon or only demon-visited, we have no means to ascertain. Nothing can be finer than the description of the manner in which this strange visitant is first introduced. The night is chill; the forest bare; There she sees a damsel bright, Did thus pursue her answer meet :- Five warriors seiz'd me yestermorn, They chok'd my cries with force and fright, d. some minutes past, nd (thus ended she), maid to flee. |