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And, gazing, sunk into the wave,-
Deep, deep,—where never care or pain

Shall reach her innocent heart again !' p. 288—4. This sad story is closed by a sort of choral dirge of great elegance and beauty, of which we can only afford to give the first stanza. • Farewell—farewell to thee, ARABY's daughter !

(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea) No pearl ever lay, under Oman's green water,

More pure in its shell than thy Spirit in thee.' The general tone of this poem is certainly too much strained. It is overwrought throughout, and is too entirely made up of agonies and raptures ;-but, in spite of all this, it is a work of great genius and beauty; and not only delights the fancy by its general brilliancy and spirit, but moves all the tender and noble feelings with a deep and powerful agitation.

p. 284.

The last piece, entitled “The Light of the Haram,' is the gayest of the

whole; and is of a very slender fabric as to fable or invention. In truth, it has scarcely any story at all; but is made up almost entirely of beautiful songs and descriptions. During the summer months, when the court is resident in the Vale of Cashmere, there is a sort of oriental carnival, called the Feast of Roses, during which every body is bound to be happy and in good humour. At this critical period, the Emperor Selim had unfortunately a little love-quarrel with his favourite Sultana Nourmahal, --which signifies, it seems, the Light of the Haram. The lady is rather unhappy while the sullen fit is on her, and applies to a sort of enchantress, who invokes a musical spirit to teach her an irresistible song, which she sings in a mask to the offended monarch; and when his heart is subdued by its sweetness, throws off her mask, and springs with fonder welcome than ever into his repentant arms. The whole piece is written in a kind of rapture,--as if the author had breathed nothing but intoxicating gas during its composition. It is accordingly quite filled with lively images and splendid expressions, and all sorts of beauties, except those of reserve or simplicity. We trust give a few specimens, to revive the spirits of our readers after the tragic catastrophe of Hafed ; and 'we may begin with this portion of the description of the Happy Valley. • Oh! to see it by moonlight,- when mellowly shines

The light o'er its palaces, gardens and shrines ;
When the water-falls gleam like a quick fall of stars,
And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenare

Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet
From the cool, shining walks where the young people meet.-
Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes
A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks,
Hills, cupolas, fountains, call'd forth every one
Out of darkness, as they were just born of the Sun.
When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with the day,
From his Haram of nighi-flowers stealing away ;
And the wind, full of wantonness, woos like a lover
The young aspen-trees till they tremble all over.
When the East is as warm as the light of first hopes,

And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurl'd,
Shines in through the mountainous portal that opes,

Sublime, from that Valley of bliss to the world!' p. 296 The character of Nourmahal's beauty is much in the same taste: though the diction is rather more locse and careless. • There's a beauty, for ever unchangingly bright,

Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer day's light,
Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender,
Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splendour.
This was not the beauty-oh! nothing like this,
That to young NOURMAHAL gave such magic of bliss.at
But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days,
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it fies
From the lips to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes
Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams,
Like the glimpses a saint has of Heav’n in his dreams! -
When pensive, it seem'd as if that very grace,
That charm of all others, was born with her face;
And when angry,--for ev'n in the tranquillest climes
Light breezes will ruffle the flowers sometimes
The short, passing anger but seem'd to awaken
New beauty, like flow'rs that are sweetest when shaken
If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her
At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye,
From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings
From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings !
Then her mirth-oh! 'twas sportive as ever took wing
From the heart with a burst, like the wild-bird in spring ;-
Illum'd by a wit that would fascinate sages,
Yet playful as Peris just loos’d from their cages.
While her laugh, full of life, without any controul
But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul;
And where it most sparkled no glance could discover,
In lip, cheek or eyes, for she brighten'd all over,-

eye

of conception. Mr Southey's tone, indeed, is more assuming, his manner more solemn, and his diction weaker. Mr Moore is more lively-his figures and images come more thickly—and his language is at once more familiar and more strength. ened with points and antitheses. In other respects, the descriptive passages in Kehama bear a remarkable affinity to many in the work before us-in the brightness of the colouring, and the amplitude and beauty of the details. It is in his descriptions of love, and of female loveliness, that there is the strongest resemblance to Lord Byron--at least to the large er poems of that Noble author. In the powerful and condensed expression of strong emotion, Mr Moore seems to us rather to have imitated the tone of some of his Lordship's smaller pieces--but imitated them as only an original genius could imitate-as Lord Byron himself may be said, in his later pieces, to have imitated those of an earlier date.There is less to remind us of Scott, than we can very well account for, when we consider the great range and variety of that most fascinating and powerful writer ; and we must say, that if Mr Moore could bring the resemblance a little closer, and exchange a portion of his superfluous images and ecstasies for an equivalent share of Mr Scott's gift of interesting and delighting us with pictures of familiar nature, and of that spirit and energy which never rises to extravagance, we think he would be a gainer by the exchange.-To Mr Crabbe there is no resemblance at all ; and we only mention his name, to observe, that he and Mr Moore seem to be the antipodes of our present poctical sphere, and to occupy the extreme points of refinement and homeliness that can be said to fall within the legitimate dominion of poetry. They could not meet in the middle, we are aware, without changing their nature, and losing their specific character; but each might approach a few degrees, we think, with great mutual advantage. The outposts of all empires are posts of peril, -though we do not dispute that there is great honour in maintaining them with success.

There is one other topic upon which we are not quite sure whether we should say any thing. In an early Number of this work, we reproved Mr Moore, perhaps with unnecessary seve rity, for what appeared to us the licentiousness of sonie of his youthsul productions. We think it a duty to say, that he has long ago redeemed that error; and that in all his later works that have come under our observation, he appears as the eloquent champion of purity, fidelity and delicacy, not less than of justice, liberty and honour. Like most other poets; indeed, he speaks much of beauty and love; and we doubt not that many mature virgins and careful matrons may think his lucubrations on those themes too rapturous and glowing to be safely admitted among the private studies of youth. We really think, however, that there is not much need for such apprehensions; and, at all events, if we look to the moral design and scope of the works themselves, we can see no reason to censure the author. All his favourites, without exception, are dutiful, faithful, and self-denying; and no other example is ever set up for imitation. There is nothing approaching to indelicacy even in his description of the seductions by which they are tried; and they who object to his enchanting pictures of the beauty and pure attachinent of the more prominent characters, would find fault, we supposc, with the loveliness and the embraces of angels.

Art. II., Memoir of the Conquest of Juva, with the subsequent

Operations of the British Forces in the Oriental Archipelago. By Major William Thorn, late Deputy-Quartermaster to

the Forces serving in Java. I Vol. 4to. pp. 369. THE The expedition, of which this work contains an authentic and

scientific narrative, was the greatest that ever crossed the Indian ocean; and was also remarkable as the second occasionthe occupation of Egypt being the first-on which the Asiatic forces of this empire were successfully employed in foreign conquests --and legions of bigotted Hindus transported, without murmur or complaint, across those mighty waters which many of them had never before bebeld, and trained to act and to live with comfort in regions so remote from the scene of their darling superstitions. The results of the conquest, too, were interesting and momentous in the highest degree-both as exposing to our fair and impartial observation large and remarkable races of men, who had been previously very much misrepresented and misconceived--and as holding out a fair prospect of increased happiness, knowledge and improvement, to a great and most docile population.

We will fairly confess, however, that it is not with these topics that we now propose to busy ourselves; and that we have inserted the title of Major Thorn's book, chiefly to have an apology for discoursing a little about Jaya, under other relaa tions, and with a view to other objects than those with which he is occupied. The story of the conquest has now lost its interest, since the occurrence of nearer and more important victories; and the pleasing prospects to which it once seemed to

open the way, have been overcast, by the restoration of the country to its old masters. For our own sakes, we do not know that it would be wise or patriotic to wish for a further extension of our Indian dominions; and, in point of political justice, we do not see how the claims of the Dutch, who certainly never were our enemies but by compulsion, could easily be resisted. But it is impossible not to commiserate the fate of the natives, whom this restoration (a word, for the most part, of evil omen to subjects) has once more delivered over to such harsh and injudicious rulers; and we really are not sanguine enough to hope that they will soon have either sense or liberality enough to profit by the example we set before them, or the models we put into their hands. Of the actual state and capabilities, both moral and physical, of this great country, we hope soon to be able to give our readers an account, in a review of the large and comprehensive publication of Sir Stamford Raffles. At present, we mean to confine ourselves to a short sketch of the Commerce of the Indian Islands-a subject peculiarly interesting to this country, since the relaxation of the East India Company's monopoly has opened up the neighbouring regions to the enterprise of English merchants—and still, we believe, very partially and imperfectly understood, even among commercial men.

That vast and fertile groupe of islands which lies between India and China, is perhaps the richest and most luxurious region of the habitable globe ; and the greater part of its productions being eminently suited to the taste and the wants of all other countries, seem, from the most ancient times, to have found a market coextensive with the known world; and to have excited, through a long series of ages, the cupidity and ambition, not of traders merely, but of the greatest statesmen and conquerors. From the days of Alexander down to those of Bonaparte, the commerce of the Eastern world has been regarded as one grand source of national wealth and industry- the central and primary region of opulence and luxury-and the great fountain of public splendour and individual comfort. It was by the golden droppings of this trade, strained through the narrow and obstructed channels of Arabia and Egypt, that the wasted shores of Italy were first stimulated to reproduction, after the conquest of the barbarians,—and it was this that revived, by the wealth which it poured upon Florence and Venice, the slumbering Genius of Europe, and rekindled from its ashes the long-extinguished flame of liberty and taste. It was the attraction of the same splendid commerce that gave its first memorable impulse to the spirit of maritime discovery-opened a way to Vasco round the Cape of

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