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vours to reconcile the national and characteristic with the agreeable and theatrical. It is only thus that it is possible to avoid pedantry on the one hand, and fantasticalness on the other. Nay, we may assume what is said in this introduction pretty nearly as the rule, according to which, as things now are, we may proceed in all our theatrical and masquerade costumes. It must be also remembered, that in the choice and mixture of the colour, it was necessary to have regard to the nocturnal illumination, and that on this account we must not be surprised to see Hymen, for instance, not in yellow, but in bright red drapery; further, that it was necessary to aim at striking contrasts, and that therefore many costumes, particularly in the ancient Asiatic and old German taste, received many ornaments not properly belonging to them. If we make due allowance for all this, we shall not be offended at some trifling deviations from the strict costume; especially because, if we were called upon to contrive it better, we should certainly be very much embarrassed. Every where, in the costume of the figures of the heroic ages, we see the profound antiquarian. In the same manner, the costumes arranged by count Bruhl, from the time of Byzantine magnificence, down to Louis XII. and Anne of Bretagne, are all well chosen, and with a view to the greatest magnificence, which was here indispensable.

The short hints which the judicious and tasteful contriver of these characters has scattered in the explanations, show how much he could say on the subject in a proper place. It were much to be wished that in his leisure time, upon which, indeed, there are too many claims, he might be able to display to us the christian romantic world, in an express work on the costume, as it begins from the Dalmatica and Labarum, down to the modern Spanish at the beginning of the 16th century, with accurate drawings, which are indispensable, and also quoting the authorities. Perhaps lithography may attain every where the high degree of perfection which it has acquired in Munich, and thus render it possible to represent the genuine metallic costumes at a smaller expense.

We would address the same request to M. Hirt, in respect to the Asiatic, Egyptian, Scythian, and Greek Etruscan (of which the Roman is only a branch.) The indefatigable Millin at Paris had been engaged many years in collecting rare and chosen materials on the subject, and published a small but important work, on theatrical costume, preparatory to a large work with numerous plates. The unfortunate fire, which during his three years' tour in Italy threw into disorder, if it did not consume, all his papers and collections, together with the unpropitious times, caused the execution of this plan to be indefinitely delayed, He began, however, to collect and to arrange anew. And what means had he at his command, in the situation he was placed in at Paris! But his death, by which his friends and the sciences are equal sufferers, for ever destroyed this plan. Let Hirt then, whose mythological picture-book has already been of so much use, no longer delay to acquire this merit. How much would we give if we had such a book of costumes remaining from the brilliant times of classic antiquity! For the plastic monuments, every where aiming at the naked, are founded on conventional laws, very different from the picturesque rules of our theatrical costumes, and they lead the imprudent greatly astray. One source for antique costume is, however, by no means exhausted; viz. the vases, of which more are daily discovered and published. People will at length be tired of the mere bacchanals, which have been multiplied to excess, and only really new and interesting subjects will be copied, as has been lately done with much judgment by James Millington, collected from the vases of sir John Coghill.

ART. VIII.-Human Life, a poem by Samuel Rogers. London 1819. Small 4to. pp 94. Reprinted and published at Philadelphia by M. Thomas in 24mo. pp. 62.

[The following are the remarks of the London Literary Gazette upon this little work. They are at least as favourable as the poem deserves. Indeed if such poetry, so lifeless, so spiritless, so common-place, had been written and published here, our critics would not have allowed the poet to escape so well, nor would the public taste have rewarded the splendid quarto. Mr. Rogers seems to have improved the smoothness of his versification, but to have lost the vigour of his genius.]

HUMAN LIFE-a trite but interesting subject to human beings;

a subject inexhaustible, and which has exhausted every species of intellectual intelligence; a subject upon which nothing new can be said, and much of what is old may be repeated, to the delight of mankind, if repeated well. Such is the theme adopted by Mr. Rogers for a poem, the extent of which is a sketch of one view of the great drama that is designated, rather than a grand outline of the many and important aspects it presents to the philosophical mind. In this sketch the pencilling is beautiful, the conception refined, the design pleasing upon the whole-the execution elegant, and the general feeling of an admirable tone. We cannot look upon it without recognising an amiable disposition in the artist; a sensibility of the purest order, alike removed from the confines of mawkish sentiment and of hard unkindness: a heart touched with the ills of life and the griefs of other men, seems to speak in one or two of the most affecting passages descriptive of the death of beloved objects, and the ideas of the writer are expressed with a simple though polished pathos, which claims and ensures a corresponding emotion.

The impression made upon us by the perusal of Human Life is that of an agreeable melancholy. There are parts which excite deeper sensations; but the general tendency is of this delightful

cast.

As mere readers we should offer no other opinion upon the merits of this production; but as bringing it critically before the public, we are bound to enter a little more into detail. The extracts

which we shall add to these brief remarks will prove that the highest degree of admiration is due to many felicitous effusions which it contains, especially to those pourings out of the soul which sympathy has attuned to the misfortunes or woes of fellow creatures. Throughout the poem the style is tender, and far above the level of undistinguished verse. The pictures are almost invariably clearly defined, though in one or two instances we are at a loss for the author's precise meaning, and his language is involved in an obscurity which the slightest grammatical alteration would probably elucidate. The rhythm is very musical, and the rhyme, taken altogether, good. We do not dislike the occasional change from the regular heroic measure to triplets, nor to the line with a trochaic close; but in so short a poem (not exceeding six hundred lines) there is an objectionable recurrence to the same terminations; and the use of one word, in itself neither poetical nor called for by the sense of the passage, we must notice as the principal critical blemish of the composition. We allude to the pronoun 'there,' which, though nothing better than an expletive in three out of the four places in which it is employed, serves as a rhyme for about a dozen of times. 'Then' is also impressed into the same service, and the conclusion in ire, for example, fire, require, admire, desire, &c. &c. &c. occurs so often, as to produce an idea of sameness. In short, while acknowledging their correctness, we may complain of the want of variety in the rhymes.

But without dwelling further at present on such minute spots, except to point them out as they cross us in our annexed quotations, we proceed to the more gratifying task of laying before our readers those extracts which we have selected as fair specimens of the work.

The introduction is not inferior to any equal number of continuous lines in the poem.

The lark has sung his carol in the sky;

The bees have hummed their noon-tide lullaby.
Still in the vale the village-bells ring round,
Still in Llewellyn-hall the jests resound:
For now the caudle cup is circling there,*
Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer,
And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire
The babe, the sleeping image of his sire.

A few short years and then these sounds shall hail
The day again, and gladness fill the vale;
So soon the child a youth, the youth a man,
Eager to run the race his fathers ran.

Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sir-loin;
The ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine:
And, basking in the chimney's ample blaze,
Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,
'The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled,
'Twas on these knees he sat so oft and smiled.'

* One of the examples of the inappropriate use of this pronoun.

And soon again shall music swell the breeze;
Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees
Vestures of nuptial white; and hymns be sung,
And violets scattered round; and old and young,
In every cottage-porch with garlands green,
Stand still* to gaze, and gazing, bless the scene;
While, her dark eyes declining, by his side
Moves in her virgin veil the gentle bride.

And once, alas, nor in a distant hour,
Another voice shall come from yonder tower;
When in dim chambers long black weeds aret seen,
And weepings heard where only joy had been;
When by his children borne, and from his door
Slowly departing to return no more,
He rests in holy earth with them that went before.
And such is human life.

These verses, and the notes we have appended to them, will convey our sentiments on the whole poem. Were it not exquisitely wrought, and laboriously polished throughout, we should not think it worth minute and microscopal criticism: but it is on the finest mirrors that the smallest specks are seen.

The next paragraph which we shall copy is one of more unmixed beauty, and may be esteemed a free paraphrase from Bossuet's Sermon on the Resurrection.

Our pathway leads but to a precipice;

And all must follow, fearful as it is!
From the first step 'tis known; but-No delay;
On, 'tis decreed. We tremble and obey.

A thousand ills beset us as we go.

- Still, could I shun the fatal gulf'-Ah, no,
'Tis all in vain-the inexorable Law!

Nearer and nearer to the brink we draw.

Verdure springs up; and fruits and flowers invite,
And groves and fountains-all things that delight.
Oh I would stop, and linger if I m

might!'

We fly; no resting for the foot we find;
All dark before, all desolate behind!

At length the brink appears-but one step more!
We faint-On, on! we falter--and 'tis o'er!

The author, after some general reflections, now proceeds through the different stages of human life, differing in his classification from the seven ages ges of Shakspeare. He divides his subject into Childhood, Youth, Manhood, Love, Marriage, Domestic Happiness and Affliction, War, Peace, Civil Dissention, Retirement from Active Life, and Old Age and its enjoyments. The portraiture of infancy is very pretty; but the transition from Manhood to Love is rather abrupt; nor is the latter subject so happily treated as most of the others. It seems to us to be too familiar rather than playful. The delineation of domestic bliss is at once more eleva

* An indefinite, and here an improper word.

† The change of time from the shall in the preceding line to this are, has a bad effect.

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said to have happened in the twelfth century, to a son of William Fitz-Duncan, the nephew of David king of Scotland, who had laid waste the valley of Craven with fire and sword. Though both are worthy of the critic's praise, we only select the latter, as it admits of being transferred entire into our limits, as the conclusion of this notice.

THE BOY OF EGREMOND.

Say what remains when Hope is fled?"
She answered, Endless weeping!'
For in the herds-man's eye she read
Who in his shroud lay sleeping.

At EMBSAY rung the matin-bell,
The stag was roused on Barden-fell;
The mingled sounds were swelling, dying,
And down the Wharfe a hern was Aving: flying;
When near the cabin in the wood,
In tartan clad and forest-green,
With hound in leash and hawk in hood,
The boy of Egremond was seen.
Blithe was his song, a song of yore,
But where the rock is rent in two,
And the river rushes through,
His voice was heard no more!
'Twas but a step, the gulf he passed.
But that step-it was his last!
As through the mist he winged his way,
(A cloud that hovers night and day)
The hound hung back, and back he drew
The master and his merlin too.
That narrow place of noise and strife
Received their little all of life.

There now the matin-bell has rung;
The ' miserere!' duly sung;
And holy men in cowl and hood
Are wandering up and down the wood.
But what avail they? ruthless lord,
Thou didst not shudder when the sword
Here on the young its fury spent,
The helpless and the innocent.
Sit now and answer groan for groan.
The child before thee is thy own.
And she who wildly wanders there,
The mother in her long despair,
Shall oft remind thee, waking, sleeping,
Of those who by the Wharfe were weeping;
Of those who would not be consoled
When red with blood the river rolled.

We have only to add, that this volume is so beautifully printed as to be an excellent example of typography, and though we do not approve of such expensive modes of getting up works for the public, yet as we suppose the present is only a sort of fancy edition, as a preleminary to an appearance in a cheapear form, we abstain from saying that we wish it were more agreeable to the usual practice of publishing in a neat and convenient form at amoderate price.

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