Abel ever had a son. The expression in itself is low and meagre, and from the non-existence of the personage alluded to, is awkward and obscure. In the following lines the illustration is more happy. "And oh! that pang where more than madness lies, "The worm that never dies," is indeed a most forcible illustration of that state of mind here described, a state of mind which Scripture alone can adequately pourtray, and Scripture alone can permanently relieve. We know not whether the noble Lord was aware of a very close imitation also of Job, viii. 13, "When I say, my bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint, then thou scarest me with dreams and terrifiest me with visions.-When I lie down, I say, when shall I arise, and the night be gone, I am full of tossings to and fro, until the dawn of the day."-We are happy that the noble Lord can read and admire the language of Holy Writ; it is our ardent wish that such a mind may drink deep of its spirit from above, and that while its phraseology animates and adorns his poetry, its consolations may strengthen and support his soul. It is only when misapplied, that its words add obscurity to expression, or its spirit infuses fanaticism into the heart. Before however we terminate our account of the prominent beauties of the poem, we cannot pass over in silence the conclusion of the whole. At the foot of Zuleika's tomb is planted a single rose, faint and pale, and though the wintry winds That note so piercing and profound, 'Tis from her cypress summit heard That white rose takes its tender birth," &c. &c. J Of this most exquisite strain of fancy, of which we have given only detached portions, we may justly say, that it is conceived in the imagination of Ovid, and uttered in the tenderness of Virgil or Ariosto. The wildness of the idea is so artificially tempered by the delicacy of the expression, as scarcely to betray its fabulous origin. From the blood of Adonis, according to the fancy of the ancient poets, sprang the purple rose; from the tears of Venus budded forth the anemone; on the hyacinth were impressed the notes of lamentation for the loss of Ajax; nor shall the pale and virgin rose be less dignified by its origin from the grave of Zuleika. When beauties, such as we have selected, exist in a poem, it' becomes us to speak in the most measured terms of its failings, neither to violate the dignity of the poet, nor the province of criticism, by searching, with industrious malignity, for trifling faults and occasional weaknesses. But where errors so often recur, as to lead us to suppose that they are either the effects of design in the author, or of a vitiated style in the age, we are' then bound to deliver our opiniou frankly on the point. The whole of the first canto appears to be so decidedly inferior to the second, that excepting a few brilliant passages, we should scarcely suppose it to be the work of the same hand. We admire the judgement of the poet in reining in his strength, and preserving his vigour unimpaired for the exertions demanded at the close of the poem, but we can see no reason why the whole first canto, (as far as expression is concerned,) should be cast in a secondary mould. The noble Lord has shewn himself, on a former occasion, no less a critic than a poet; and in his "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," has given the truest estimate of the beauties and errors of his great rival in popular favour, Walter Scott. It must appear, therefore, somewhat remarkable, that he should so soon have practically recanted the * Νῦν ρόδα φοινίσσεσθε τὰ πενθιμὰ, νῦν ἀνεμώνα, Αἷμα ρόδον μὲν ἔτικτε, τὰ δάκρυα τὰν ἀνεμώναν. Mosch. Ep. Bioris. principles principles there advanced, and that he should now stand in the foremost ranks among the imitators of those very faults, which his own native taste taught him at that time to reprobate and expose. The narrative part of the first canto is in the true Scottian style of thought and espression. This would lead us to suppose, that our noble author's ear, which at first disdained the awkward carelessness, and mawkish insipidity which too often occur amidst the beauties of that admired author, had now been so long accustomed to his strains, as freely to adopt their style, more perhaps in conformity with the vitiated taste of the age, than his own better judgement. Our first objection lies against the four-foot measure, to the adoption of which may be traced most of the errors both in expression and style, which so considerably lower the standard of excellence in modern poetry. The four-foot measure is well adapted to the light, humourous, and easy tale; that it is capable also of expressing the most pathetic simplicity, both the noble Lord and Walter Scott have clearly shown; perhaps even in the description of hasty and hurried events the shortness of the verse may aptly represent the design of the author. But whereever lengthened narration or enlarged description are required, it appears to disappoint in an equal manner the power of the poet and the expectation of the reader. Nor does it appear more successful when applied to continued eloquence, or alternation of address. The length of the line but ill corresponds with the expansion of idea, and each sentence means something more than its words can express. Hence we too often find the most animated descriptions labouring under the distortions of a forced conciseness, and the most eloquent addresses assuming a sort of pertnesss and petulance. The frequent omission of necessary particles diminishes also that perspicuity which is the very soul of poetry; and the inversions of grammatical position give the whole an air of harsh and rugged obscurity. The writer, conscious of these defects, is not unfrequently forced into the opposite extreme, and by way of balancing accounts with the understanding, is seduced into a flat and meagre affectation of simplicity, and an uninteresting relation of those trifling circumstances, which are best expressed in the measure of the verse. We are aware that a continued strain of heroic lines requires as continued a flow of vigorous thought; nor is such a measure entirely adapted to the genius of a tale like the presént. Perhaps a more unexceptionable measure cannot be framed than the stanza of Spenser, with or without the alterations by Prior; and we cannot but notice a very successful instance of its adoption in the "Sir Edgar" of Mr. Hodgson, a tale replete with the most legitimate interest and animated elegance. Before Before we close our remarks on the metre, we must object strongly to the use of double rhymes in the middle of the verse, 。 and of the trochee in its last foot. The former may occasionally add a spirit to parts of a lyric ode, but in descriptive poetry the jungle of repeated sounds is always forced and unnatural, and sometimes even ludicrous in its effect. Some lines in the poem before us are not much less absurd than the well-known passage in the ode of Pope, Though fate had fast bound her, with Styx nine times round her," &c. The trochee at the conclusion of the line, if sparingly introduced, may sometimes give a judicious relief to the sameness of the four-foot measure; but where either by carelessness or design it perpetually recurs, the ear is disappointed, the verse seems to have lost its dignity and stability, and what should be expressed in elevated or powerful language is reduced below the level of a song or ballad. Our next objection will be directed against those harsh aud unmeaning obscurities, which are too prominent in the course of so short a poem to be passed over in silence. A striking example of this occurs in the four first introductory lines. "Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle The two first lines are perfectly intelligible; but whether in the two next the noble Lord means, the rage of the vulture melts into sorrow, and the love of the turtle maddens to crime, or exactly vice versâ, and whether conjointly or alternately they melt or madden, is to us perfectly dark and uncertain; nor if this point were settled, could we clearly comprehend either the meaning or the application. In this state of obscurity, we should stand excused, were we to suggest a reference to the Court of Aldermen, or to the Common Council, for a practical exposition of the meaning of the first line. We are fearful that our taste would be questioned, by no small portion of our readers, were we to confess that the following simile has baffled the powers of our comprehension. "As the stream late concealed By the fringe of its willows When it rushes revealed In the light of its billows As the bolt bursts on high From the black cloud that bound it Flash'd' the soul of that eye Through the long lashes round it." As As it now stands," the stream" is connected with no verb, nor bears any reference to the subsequent part of the sentence; the order of the words should have been "As when the stream late concealed-rushes revealed," &c. Now surely the transposition of these words as above is not only inelegant in itself, but is warranted by no grammatical licence in any language with which we are acquainted. Nor is the antithesis of the simile by any means correct. A permanent appearance is opposed to a momentary effect. The appearance of a stream with respect both to light and shade is permanent. It may be darkened in one part by the shadow of the willow, and in another part immediately succeeding it may be illuminated by the rays of the sun, but the effect in both cases is continued; we see it darkened, we see it illuminated, both at the same time in different parts. Now when the eye flashes, its previous darkness is lost-the change is momentary, and at the instant of that change the simile is drawn. To suppose that by " the stream" is meant the different particles of water as they pass in momentary succession from shadow to light, is to suppose an effect which the keenest eye could not observe, the very idea of which must vanish in the uniform appearance of the whole. Besides, to meet "the flashing of the soul of that eye throngh the long lashes round it," the light of the stream should have been "revealed," not after it had passed the willows, but through their fringe, which is impossible. From the dissimilitude of the images, the strain of the expression, and the obscurity of the construction, we cannot but hazard a wish that the simile had been wholly omitted. To those, however, who are still lost in admiration of its boldness and perspicuity, it would be an injustice not to present a celebrated passage glowing with beauties and imagery of the same species. "Mournful cypress, verdant willow, Morpheus hovering o'er my pillow, "Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors, "Thus when Philomela drooping, 1 It |