70

75

Sweet village Horton, thou too wert witness, And charm'd didst list the poet's madrigal, As mid thy scenes sequester'd, lone he sung, And from the channel of his dainty mind Produced "L'Allegro," and "Il Penseroso," The concentration of all lovely things, As in a pictur'd landscape, brought to view Whate'er is fair, or beautiful in nature; Thy tender pity, too, in plaintive verse Responsive wail'd the death of Lycidas, Of Lycidas, the bosom'd friend, and lov'd Coadjutor-who met, untimely met, Where darkly waves the osier o'er the stream, A wat'ry grave! These were the themes that woke

The tuneful efforts of his early lyre,

That sent forth strains of sweeter harmony
Than ever Orpheus sung, when he bewail'd
His lov'd, his lost Eurydice.

Hoar Time

80

85

Hath sped his way, with noiseless wing, since

which

The bloom that mark'd the youthful cheek hath fled,

The val'rous exploits, of a chivalrous age;
This had fill'd his young and buoyant fancy
With golden dreams of high-wrought imagery,
Th' Elysium of bright thoughts, Fiction's sweet

10

Mid all this deep privation;-say could aught Be seen upon this nether world, in shape

sorc'ries:

Of middle stature, but of graceful form,

Well titted for athletic exercise,

15

But more for deeds of intellectual strength,
Which from that face divine, thus outward shew'd
Capacious thought, godlike similitude;

20

O'er nature's lovely landscape spread around
He cast a quick and side-long glance, that took
In its wide compass, all rural objects,
As hill, or lowly dale, or thymy mead,
Or sweet sequester'd valley, or brown wood;
Or splashy spring, wherein the swallow dips
With circling flight, his ready-wing;-or where
From art, some imbrown'd cluster of dark trees, 25
Just peering 'bove is seen the curling snoke
Of straw-thatch'd cottage, or the neighb'ring spire
That points with graceful attitude to heav'n;
The husbandman that blithely drives afield
His lusty steeds, the patient lab'ring ox,
The careless ploughboy, whistling o'er the lea,
While overhead is heard the cawing rook,
Fieldfare or plover, calling to their mates;
Nor yet unheeded pass'd observance quick,

30

100

Of human form, (next kin to heav'nly mould,)
That could display divine beatitude,
The holy purpose of a god-like mind,
Serenely bent on its great argument?
Upon that brow, conscious of strength, there sat
A lofty bearing; as one who inward plann·d
Some great exploit, or high achievement proud.
The loss of sight he mourn'd, as one debarr'd 105
From view of nature's sweet varieties.
Yet not the less sought he the flow'ry bank,
Where oft his boyhood strayed, or "Siloa's stream
That flow'd, fast by the oracle of God."
But most his daring flight advent'rous took,
(Where none essayed before to spread a wing,)
When he th' embattled host of heav'n proclaim'd,
In lofty verse ;-angels with angels leagued
In direful war,-'till from his princely throne,
Thus forfeited by revolt, th' apostate
Fell, burl'd headlong. Thro' all th' empyrean road
Seen like a meteor, flaming thro' the sky,
He with his crew of fallen spirits fell

The bee, that rifling flies from flow'r to flow'r, 35
Intent on sweets, the live-long summer's day;
Or bubbling brook, or naiad-haunted stream,
Or twilight groves, of thick umbrageous shade,
Haunts of inspiration and poetic thought,
The covert walks of silent solicitude;
Naught scap'd his eye excursive, but from these
His teeming fancy drew all imaged bliss.
All that the mind creative can pursue
Of wonderful or fair, thro' earth or sky,
Stood present to his view ;-tho' listless sunk

40

As one absorb'd in sweet forgetfulness;
Yet still the mind in busy phantasy,
Is ever wakeful, ever on th' alert,
That finds no footing, like the dove of Noah,
To rest its flight advent'rous,-but is, (tho'
Seeming to the gaze of one unpractised,
To be close bound up in cold indifference,)
For ever watchful, like the bird of Jove,
By fabled poets sung. Upon that face,
Divine expression kindling glow'd triumphant,
The speaking emanation of the soul,
As when the sun thro' misty morning breaks
With golden splendour, light'ning the orient,
So lighted up those features, as the mind
From its imprison'd cell forth drew its store
Of many-colour'd tissue, of bright thoughts,
Th' inward working of a soul superior;
Then, as with joy elate, methought outflash'd,
That creature of th' imagination wild,
The enchanter Comus, whose witching spell
And syren strains of enchain'd music might
"Create a soul, under the ribs of death."

50

Potential call'd, as high erect he stood
Upon the burning marl. Awoke by their
Great leader's voice, like locusts up they spring
And straight alight, with baneful wings out-

spread,

130

55

When they their new-found city 'gan to build, By name call'd Pandemonium ;-the royal Seat, and capital of hell's proud potentate, Synod of gods, of gods infernal met.

60

Bard of immortal subjects, this, this form'd 135 The matter of thy song, on which thy soul Dilated, with how, tho' discomfited, The Tempter, with inbred malice fraught, first Plann'd his dark, insidious emprise, t' ensnare, With guileful arts our first progenitors And mar their happy Eden. Too blissful Seat t' escape th' envious eye of our dread foe,

140

65

A retired village in Buckinghamshire, where the illustrious poet passed the early part of his life.

Who plotted nothing less than man's defeat,
For ever banish'd fruitfnl paradise,

Thro' sin our bane, the bane of all mankind. 145
Whilst thou, with dignified sublimity,

As with the wing of some superior angel,
Bear'st thy flight amid the cherubic host,
Like flying pursuivant, on herald bent,
Thro' all the sapphire blaze, of kingly thrones, 150
Of pow'rs supreme, celestial ardours bright,
The shining seats of high-born dignities,
Caught up to the third heav'ns, thou there
beheld'st

The glories of transcendent Deity,

And heardst,as from ten thousand voices sweet, 155
(Thine ear attuned to heav'nly symphonies,)
The harpings of adoring seraphims,

And the shout of th' archangels, and the voice,
Like many waters heard, the voice of God!
"With thoughts that wander thro' eternity," 160
What else could fill that mighty mind, or meet
Its vast conceptions, or "find room and verge
Enough" t' expand its noble aspirations?
What else save this, its one great argument,
The Fall of Man," and cause of all our woe; 165
Till one," a greater Man," th' eternal Son
"Restore us, and regain the blissful seat?"

170

The praise of man were vain, great epic bard, "Twere vain to rear a column to the skies, Or grave thy name on time-enduring brass, Or sculptur'd stone, or breathing marble's bust, To hand it down to deep posterity; Thou'st 'graved thyself a nobler monument, Enduring more than earth's proud pageantry, Or the cold records of its prostrate dust; Tis the divinity within that lives, The consecration of the soul divine, Th' outpouring of the spirit immortal, "Those thoughts that breathe, and words that burn," thus seen

175

REVIEW.-Letters and Journals of Lord Byron, with Notices of his Life. By Thomas Moore. In 2 vols. vol. II. 4to. pp. 830. Murray, London, 1830. THE name, the character, the writings, and the genius of Lord Byron have been so long before the world, that very little respecting him either new or remarkable can now be said, or fairly expected. The fame, how. ever, which the productions of his pen have acquired, still exhibits colours sufficiently glowing to attract public attention; and while this can be kept alive, the solicitude which it excites will never want the means of gratification.

That Lord Byron was a man of very superior talents, no person acquainted with his publications can for a moment doubt. Originality of thought, vigour of intellect, and vivacity of expression, are conspicuous in all his sentences; and even on the ground which others had previously trodden, the fertility of his imagination could always form new combinations, which dazzle by their lustre, when to moral excellence they communicate no improvement.

Allured by this brilliant halo which encir2D. SERIES, NO. 2.-VOL. I.

89

cled the name of Byron, many thousands have rallied round his standard, to catch the inspiration of his muse, and enjoy the literary fragrance scattered by her wings. By such as these his lordship's talents and genius have been duly appreciated, and in their approbation his poetical renown will remain embalmed, when new generations shall arise to compare his productions with those of other poets who are yet unborn.

It cannot, however, be dissembled that while many thousands arrange themselves under the preceding character, some tens of thousands echo his name without having read his works; and, even in cases where some portions have been perused, without an ability to judge of their merits, or make a rational observation on their defects. They have heard his lordship's name, and they must learn to lisp it; they have heard his works applauded, and they must learn their titles: they have no judgment of their own, they must therefore try to catch that of others; and thus angle for an opinion, which, when obtained, they scarcely know how to express.

The time and solicitude, which, if properly improved, might have led them to a rational decision for themselves on subjects where they wish to appear knowing, is spent in watching the direction in which the feather of public opinion is wafted, and, when this is ascertained, in joining the throng, and lending their ignorance to swell the notes issuing from the trumpet of fame. Among "this servile herd," although his lordship has swarms of vocal admirers, there is not one, we are fully persuaded, whom, from choice, he would have wished either to countenance or tolerate. They, however, follow in the train of sterling intelligence, and supply by numbers their deficiency of intellectual discernment. Their voices may awaken the attention of others of the same fraternity, and induce them to join the general cry, in raising the " momentary buzz of vain renown:" but it is not from this vast family of "the would-be," that Lord Byron can ever derive lasting reputation.

Several months since, the first volume of this splendid work passed under our review, and in it we found much to admire and much to condemn. To talents of the highest order displayed in its pages we paid a just tribute of respect, but the spirit of licertious levity which pervaded the whole did not escape our pointed reprehension. This second volume is a counterpart to the preceding, and furnishes much occasion for censure, and much for applause. It chiefly consists of letters written by his lordship to

various correspondents; of extracts from his journals; and of observations by Mr. Moore, the biographer, who in the following language thus introduces the volume to

our notice.

"The circumstances under which Lord Byron now took leave of England were such as, in the case of any ordinary person, could not be considered otherwise than disastrous and humiliating. He had, in the course of one short year, gone through every variety of domestic misery; had seen his hearth eight or nine times profaned bythe visitations of the law, and been only saved from a prison by the privileges of his rank. He had alienated, as far as they had ever been his, the affections of his wife, and now, rejected by her, and condemned by the world, was betaking himself to an exile which had not even the dignity of appearing voluntary, as the excommunicating voice of society seemed to leave him no other resource. Had he been of that class of unfeeling and self-satisfied natures from whose hard surface the reproaches of others fall pointless, he might have found in insensibility a sure refuge against reproach; but, on the contrary, the same sensitiveness that kept him so awake to the applauses of mankind, rendered him, in a still more intense degree, alive to their censure. Even the strange, perverse pleasure which he felt in paint

ing himself unamiably to the world, did not prevent

him from being both startled and pained when the world took him at his word; and, like a child in a mask before a looking-glass, the dark semblance which he had half in sport put on, when reflected back upon him from the mirror of public opinion, shocked even himself.

"Thus surrounded by vexations, and thus deeply feeling them, it is not too much to say, that any other spirit but his own would have sunk under the struggle, and lost, perhaps irrecoverably, that level of self-esteem which alone affords a stand against the shocks of fortune. But in him,-furnished as his mind was with reserves of strength, waiting to be called out,-the very intensity of the pressure brought relief by the proportionate reaction which it produced. Had his transgressions and frailties been visited with no more than their due portion of punishment, there can be little doubt that a very different result would have ensued. Not only would such an excitement have been insufficient to waken up the new energies still dormant in him, but that consciousuess of his own errors, which was for ever livelily present in his mind, would, under such circumstances, have been left, undisturbed by any unjust provocation, to work its usual softening and, perhaps, humbling influence, on his spirit. But, luckily as it proved for the further triumphs of his genius, no such moderation was exercised. The storm of invective raised around him, so utterly out of proportion with his offences, and the base calumnies that were every where heaped upon his name, left to his wounded pride no other resource than in the same summoning up of strength, the same instinct of resistance to injustice which had at first forced out the energies of his youthful genius, and was now destined to give him a still bolder and loftier range of its powers. p. 2.

"But the greatest of his trials as well as triumphs was yet to come. The last stage of this painful though glorious course, in which fresh power was at every step wrung from out his soul,

was that at which we are now arrived-his marriage and its results,-without which, dear as was the price paid by him in peace and character, his career would have been incomplete, and the world still left in ignorance of the full compass of his genius. It is indeed worthy of remark, that it was not till his domestic circumstances began to darken around him, that his fancy, which had long been idle, again rose upon the wing; both the Siege of Corinth, and Parisina, having been produced but a short time before the separation. How conscious he was, too, that the turmoil which followed was

the true element of his restless spirit may be collected from several passages of his letters at that period, in one of which he even mentions that his health had become all the better for the conflict:'It is odd,' he says,' but agitation or contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits, and sets me up for the time.'

"This buoyancy it was-this inexpressible spring of mind,-that now enabled him to bear up not only against the assaults of others, but, what was still more difficult, against his own thoughts and feelings. The muster of all his mental resources, to which in self-defence he had been driveu, but opened to him the yet undreamed extent and capacity of his powers, and inspired him with a proud confidence, that he should yet shine down these calumnious mists, convert censure to wonder, and compel even those who could not approve, to admire."-p. 4.

The extracts given from Lord Byron's journals, are full of spirit and vivacity. His descriptions are every where animated; and his remarks on classical objects, on ages that are past, and on the writings of authors now no more, command the attention of the reader with an enchantment that is al. most irresistible. These are always enlivening, and frequently profound. From the magnified he descends to the minute, in a manner too graceful to escape observation ; and when he touches on domestic events, and personal peculiarities and occurrences, he has the happy art of rendering trifles important and interesting.

His lordship's letters are all wtitten in the same strain as his journals. Every sentence is sprightly, and the ornaments of his diction seem rather to have offered themselves as volunteers, than to have been impressed into his service. The style is colloquial and familiar, but in all its parts the hand of a master is apparent. His images and allusions are both diversified and exuberant, and from the profusion with which they are scattered, we are led to infer that a much greater number swarmed round his pen, and solicited admission, than have been permitted to enjoy that honour.

Both the journals and the letters abound with anecdote and incident, applying to men, to writings, and to places; and on many questionable but interesting propositions and topics, his opinion is given without any reserve. In this, a spirit of independence always predominates. He offers incense at no man's shrine, and appears to glory in his own consciousness of superiority. In these, as in many other respects, few men have ever appeared before the world with less disguise than the subject of these volumes.

In the collecting and arranging of the materials, after passing them through his alembic, Mr. Moore has acted a conspicuous part. His notices and observations, though not numerous, are introduced with judg

ment, and adapted to the occasions which called them into existence. To several of these notices we are indebted for an explanation of lines and passages that occur in his lordship's poems, which by these means are divested of their otherwise native obscurity. Numerous verses are quoted to which the elucidative notices are annexed, and the light which the former derive from the latter is both diversified and considerable.

Prefixed to this volume, is a pleasing portrait of his lordship at the age of nineteen, by Sanders. The engraving, by Finden, is an exquisite specimen of the graphic art.

Combining the notices with the journals and letters, Mr. Moore has produced two as entertaining quarto volumes as the English language can boast. It would be pleasing to add, that they are as instructive as they are amusing. On the ground of utility they are lamentably deficient; but this circumstance, it is to be feared, will operate with many readers as a strong recommendation.

Favoured with a genius of the most brilliant character, and endowed with intellectual powers of the highest order; elevated on the pinnacle of fame,before which, talents that command respect from common mortals, are proud to do homage; and sustaining a name indelibly inscribed on the archives of immortality, had Lord Byron's writings been as much dignified by morals as they are ornamented by ease, vivacity, elegance, and imagery, his productions would have diffused their unsullied lustre among the brightest constellations of the human race. But, alas! justice compels us to add, that

"Thoughtless folly laid him low,
And spoiled his name."

phenomenon undoubtedly is, a mind habituated to trace historical events through a chain of complicated causes will find no difficulty in accounting for the rapid advancement of the American republic, if, in truth, a republic it be. Carthage, to which the colossus of the new world, perhaps, bears the nearest resemblance, exhibits a spectacle far surpassing it in every respect. The United States did not spring from an obscure or feeble original, much less from a horde of uncivilized barbarians, who had their settlement to seek and secure by their own unassisted strength.

The shores of North America were visited by the most enlightened men of an enlightened age, who were besides some of the brightest ornaments of their country in talent and virtue. The colonists, planted by these illustrious adventurers, partook in some measure of the merits of their patrons. They were moral, religious, and intent upon local improvement, not only for their own advantage, but ultimately for the benefit of the parent state. This reciprocation of commerce and protection produced a natural progress of population, so that within a less period than that of the independence of America, the colonists became too firmly rooted in the land to fear any thing from the native tribes.

Even the civil war, which impoverished, and in some degree may be said to have weakened England, enriched and strengthened the American colonies, by driving thither numbers of opulent and industrious emigrants, who wished to live in the tranquil enjoyment of their religion and the fruits of their industry.

As the parent country was interested in the improvement of the transatlantic establishments, it happened singularly enough, that while the people in England were suffering under many privations and oppressions, civil and religious, the colonists were actually enjoying liberty to the utmost extent. By this means the American states prospered to such a degree, that new importations of settlers were attracted to that coast, where woods and swamps gave way to fertile plantations and populated towns. This state of things progressively improved, till the rapacity and immorality of the new colonists led them to make encroachments upon the natives, who, in self-defence, combined too late to repel the intruders. Then it was that the French, not from any philanthropic motive, took part with the Indians, and thus made North America the seat of war.

The English government, as in duty bound, undertook the defence of the colonies, and, by arming the colonists, prepared