Cain then gives a long and somewhat heavy narration of all the feelings, and their causes, that at last led him to the murder of Abel. Mr Lyndsay is not so powerful here as he might have been, which we regret, as the subject was a fine one; and failure here awoke a suspicion in us that he was not equal to situations of high and terrible passion; but in some other passages which we shall quote, he redeems himself nobly.

Jared, at the conclusion of Cain's confession, commands the wanderer to leave these happy vales; and Cain's fury being roused by the Patriarch's cruelty, he leaps upon him, and is in the act of rending him to death, when Azura, his long-lost wife, who he thought had forsaken him, but who has been following, in love and sorrow, his haunted flight, rushes on between them, and calms the tempest of her husband's miserable soul. Jared alarms the country; and Cain, who knows that he bears a charmed life, espies a huge tree floating on the sea, and taking Azura in his arms, commits himself to the waves. The conclusion of the first part of the poem, or the Destiny of Cain," is, though bordering on extravagance, not without sublimity.

Could not behold their fall. But the broad sea!

Oh go not, husband. Man is far less wild Than yon devouring wave!

Cain.

Wilt thou forsake

Thy husband, for he goes? The elements Have been commanded all to harm me not. The sea is one of them, and he will curse My soul by his obedience. He will spare My God-protected life, and aid my will ! Seat of the storm, throne of the tempest wild,

I love thee; for, of all of nature's works, Thou, thou alone, in thy stern angry mood, Hark! thunder! and the earth doth rock! Dost hold alliance with my tossed soul!

It is

The signal for my flight! and see, where

comes

The Death of Cain opens with a picture of the murderer sitting alone in ghastly horror by the corpse of Azura. God has stricken down his only comfort, and the sullen and hopeless wretch thus vents his complaints and curses:

"The Avenger saw I had a gleam of peace; the light by which It was reveal'd was my Azura's life. He quench'd that light, and plunged my harrow'd soul

Deep into utter darkness! She is gone! She, whose unchanging love still stepp'd between

Me and the goad of vengeance. She,

whose soul,

Unloosen'd, clung to mine; whose wounded foot,

Untiring, follow'd mine, through all the paths

Of danger and distraction,-she is dead! Wrapp'd in the sleep of Abel, she reclines Silent and cold before me. For her sake, When first I saw the shadowy hand upraised,

To beckon her away, wept and pray'd! I might have spared humility, and now

I weep and pray no longer. Thou hast done

Thy bitterest vengeance. Now, I may defy

Thy lifted arm. Again, so heavily,
Avenger, can it fall ?"

During this soliloquy, his son, Irad, wearied of his father's ferocious tyranny, steals upon him, and flings a javelin at his heart. Cain starts up, and a fearful colloquy of recrimination ensues between the wanderer and his murderous son. Irad curses him away from the city; and while Cain's soul is black with hellish rage, Azazel, one of the fallen angels, rises up before him, to tempt him to deliver up his soul to hell by promise of power over the elements. There is much poetry in this scene, but also much exaggeration; and Azazel is by far too wordy an orator for an angel; he occasionally reminds us of Dr Hall of Leicester, and now and then of Dr Chalmers. A few strong touches would have produced more effect on Cain than all that pompous and elaborate declamation. resists the tempter, and rushes out, exclaiming,

"Cain.

How his words

Cain

Pour overwhelming on my sinking soul, Like cataracts grown mad!I will not hear!

While reason yet is left ine, let me fly!
I know not, reck not whither; but I go
To shun this demon's goadings !-What
if I

Sink at the last! I have no hope, and may
Fall by the chace exhausted. Demon !

Fiend!

Spare thy unhallow'd triumph!-Smile

not yet;

The race is still to win!-Oh that thou

wert

"Seth.

Through the gloom, O father, look, there shines a wond'rous light,

As if a band of suns above that spot Did shed their radiance down:-from heaven or earth

Gleameth that light?

Adam. It is the wall of flame, The fiery circle which doth circumscribe The hallow'd Garden, from whose sacred mould

I took my frame,-it is the will of Heaven That holy earth should still be consecrate To that sole purpose, nor e'er be profaned To other uses. When from out its bounds He drove us weeping, round its airs he drew

We will assist thee in the task, for be The sufferer what he may, from me he springs,

And still must claim my pity."

It is Cain; and Adam, Seth, and the others, descend to the foot of the mountain, to know what wretched being wanders through the thundering and stormy solitude. Before they reach him, Cain thus speaks; but we quote with pleasure great part of the interview, which is admirably done.

"Cain. So! there comes Nor help nor pity to me. I am driven

Myself, and this be no delusion, then My wretched flight hath borne me to the spot

I should have shunn'd for ever. Oh, I know That giant tree, and those cloud soaring hills, And---God of vengeance, hast thou drawn me here,

To make my doom more bitter, to assist The malice of the fiend ?---It is,---it is, The crimson spot of earth, the wither'd bound,

Where first into her sick'ning breast was pour'd

The draught of her son's blood. It is the

spot,

Where these fell hands griped his implo. ring throat,

And smote upon his brain! He riseth !--

see,

Up from the earth he comes, a blacken'd

corse,

To drag me to his grave,---to bid me share His deep and bloody bed !---Oh, agony,We sink !---together, --down,---down,-deeper yet,--

The earth is closing o'er me.

SETH and MAHALALEEL enter. Mahalaleel. See, my father, Where, on the earth, unto the tempest's wrath,

Insensible the wretch extended lies. Wounded he is, and speechless, let us raise His head from that sad pillow.

Soth. Sorrowing man, Look up. Thy wounded head reclines

Yea, let me hope I gaze upon a vision,---that the breath Of the blasphemer doth not file the air, So near the courts of Eden; that the foot Of the manslayer doth not press the soil Red with his victim's gore. Oh, righteous Heaven,

Before thee I have sinn'd; I would not then Curse the destroyer, but, I pray thee, send Him back unto his land, ere other sons Glut his revengeful malice.

Misery

Cain. Is humble! Father of mankind, behold The wretched, prostrate Cain. The earthabhorr'd;

The horror-struck---the wand'rer---demonscourged;

Of God and man abandon'd. I have worn Long on this aching brow the burning seal Of the Creator's vengeance. Now, I come Unto my father's hand, to raze the stamp, And take the malediction from my soul. Start not, Oh brethren! hither not my will, But the Eternal's, bore me; for I knew Nought of the path o'er which my frenzied speed

Drove furiously along. O Father, chief Of the earth's thousands, 'neath thy holy rule,

Within these sacred valleys, let my head Lie down in peace! I ask a tranquil spot Where I may die. I would not live among Mine own all sinful race, whose hands are arm'd

Against their father's life, who struck the

head

To God's own wrath devoted."

The conversation between Adam and Cain becomes, after this, very dull and unexpressive-indeed painful and

seemingly unnatural; so we pass it over, and give the conclusion of the drama.

Cain, after a long life of agony and guilt, lies stretched at last on the very grave of the murdered Abel; his father is beside him, and God is thundering in the sky. The situation is grandly, and sublimely, and terribly imagined; and though the execution is scarcely equal to the design, it certainly exhibits Mr Lyndsay's power in the most favourable light, and justifies fully all that we have now ventured to say in his praise.

"Cain.

My brother's grave

Is now my place of rest, for never more Shall I forsake that home. This is the bed Where I shall sleep for ever. Hark! there is

A voice which whispers to my soul, and cries,

Thy wanderings are past, here lie thee down

For thy last expiation.' God, I pray thee,
Let not this be a mockery, for thou see'st
How all reject me. It is thy decree,
And now I murmur not; but, if thy will
Summon me not, I shall devoted stand
Alone again, the outcast of the earth,
The loathed of all her sons. My strength

is gone,

And the dark fiend that doth beset my soul

Whispers me of despair. Oh, help me,
God!

The spurn'd of all, I turn me back to thee!
Give me not up to hell. My punishment
Hath mighty been, and mightily I have
Borne the severe decree. My bloody hands,
Now purified by suff'ring, I upraise
From that deep bed where the slain victim
lies,

Unto thine eye,---avert it not, O God!
The red stain is effaced! Oh, look down,
Look down with mercy on me ;---if my
pangs

Have been an expiation,---if my soul
Be scourged not as my body, but may rest,
Cured of its wounds, upon thy healing

breast,

Then call me from this earth,---arm thy right hand

With thy tremendous bolt, and strike me

dead!

I hear no more the anguish of his cries, The thunderbolt hath still'd them. Mercy, Heaven,

Have mercy on the fallen. -Soft, the day Breaketh above the darkness. O my son, Mine elder born, where art thou? Gone,--behold

The Eternal hath accorded his sad prayer,
And with the lightning is his being gone.
He came in misery into the world,

In darkness hath departed. Lo! a heap
Of smoking ashes, on the mouldering bones
Of the first sleeper lies; it is the last
Sad remnant of the slayer; the grieved
earth

Devours the murderer, he is entomb'd
Refuseth him a grave, the fiery doom
By that which hath consumed him; he

hath been

Cain's atoms rise,--no more a heap of dust,

But mingled with creation. Air, earth, water,

Take each your several offerings !"

from this poem, that our readers might We have given copious quotations have before them enough of Mr Lyndsay to decide on his merits. We do not fear to say, that he is a poet with much feeling and no little imagination. His chief fault is a dim and misty splendour indiscriminately flung over all his conceptions, by which the very eye of the mind is dazzled, and from which it would fain seek relief. There is no less touches at once awaken the heart; simplicity; for soft, tender, and careand nothing like delineation of character;-neither is there much curious or profound knowledge of passion; and the poet is sometimes weakest when he ought to be most strong. But Mr