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derfully like those of real life ; and kindling power over the actions and when we add to this, that all the most characters of our own age. interesting and impressive superstitions Byron is in all respects the very opand fancies of the times are in his posite of Scott. He never dreams of poetry incorporated and intertwined wholly giving up his mind to the inwith the ordinary tissue of mere hu- fluence of the actions of men, or the man existence, we feel ourselves hur- events of history. He lets the world ried from this our civilized age, back roll on, and eyes its wide-weltering into the troubled bosom of semibar- and tumultuous waves-even the cabarous life, and made keen partakers lamitous shipwrecks that strew its in all its impassioned and poetical darkness—with a stern, and somecredulities. His Poems are historical times even a pitiless misanthropy. He narrations, true in all things to the cannot sympathise with the ordinary spirit of history, but everywhere over- joys or sorrows of humanity, even spread with those bright and breath- though intense and overpowering. ing colours which only genius can They must live and work in intellect bestow on reality; and when it is re- and by intellect, before they seem collected, that the times in which his worthy of the sympathy of his impescenes are laid and his heroes act were netrable soul. His idea of man, in distinguished by many of the most the abstract, is boundless and magnienergetic virtues that can grace or ficent; but of men, as individuals, he dignify the character of a free people, thinks with derision and contempt. and marked by the operation of great Hence he is in one stanza a sublime passions and important events, every moralist, elevated and transported by one must feel that the poetry of Wal- the dignity of human nature ; in the ter Scott is, in the noblest sense of the next a paltry satirist, sneering at its word, national; that it breathes upon meanness. Hence he is unwilling to us the bold and heroic spirit of per- yield love or reverence to any thing turbed but magnificent ages, and con- that has yet life ; for life seems to sink nects us, in the midst of philosophy, the little that is noble into the degrascience, and refinement, with our tur- dation of the much that is vile. The bulent but high-minded ancestors, of dead, and the dead only, are the obe whom we have no cause to be ashamed, jects of his reverence or his love; for whether looked on in the fields of war death separates the dead from all conor in the halls of peace. He is a true nexion, all intimaey with the living; knight in all things,-free, courteous, and the memories of the great or good and brave. War, as he describes it, alone live in the past, which is a world is a noble game, a kingly pastime. He of ashes. Byron looks back to the is the greatest of all War-Poets. His tombs of those great men “ that stand Poetry might make a very coward in assured rest ;" and gazing, as it fearless. In Marmion, the battle of were, on the bones of a more gigantic Flodden agitates us with all the terror race, his imagination then teems with of a fatal overthrow. In the Lord of corresponding births, and he holds the Isles, we read of the field of Ban- converse with the mighty in language nockburn with clenched hands and worthy to be heard by the spirits of fiery spirits, as if the English were the mighty. It is this contrast bestill our enemies, and we were vic- tween his august conceptions of man, torious over their invading king. and his contemptuous opinion of men, There is not much of all this in any that much of the almost incomprehen modern poetry but his own; and sible charm, and power, and enchanttherefore it is, that, independently of ment of his Poetry exists. We feel all his other manifold excellencies, we ourselves alternately sunk and eleglory in him as the great modern vated, as if the hand of an invisible National Poet of Scotland,-in whom being had command over us. At one old times revive-whose Poetry pre- time we are a little lower than the vents History from becoming that angels; in another, but little higher which, in tiines of excessive refine- than the worms. We feel that our ment, it is often too apt to becomema elevation and our disgrace are alike dead letter,--and keeps the animating the lot of our nature ; and hence the and heroic spectacles of the past move Poetry of Byron, as we before reing brightly across our every-day marked, is read as a dark, but still a world, and flashing out from them a divine revelation.


If Byron be altogether unlike Scott, he has rendered it more creative to our Wordsworth is yet more unlike Byron. imaginations. With all the great and essential facul- We are well aware, that what we ties of the Poet, he possesses the calm have now written of Wordsworth is and self-commanding powers of the not the opinion entertained of his gePhilosopher. He looks over human nius in Scotland, where, we believe, life with a steady and serene eye; he his Poetry is scarcely known, except listens with a fine ear “ to the still by the extracts from it, and criticisms sad music of humanity." His faith is upon it, in the Edinburgh Review. unshaken in the prevalence of virtue But in England his reputation is high, over vice, and of happiness over mi. -indeed, among many of the very sery; and in the existence of a hea- best judges, the highest of all our venly law operating on earth, and, in living Poets; and it is our intention, spite of transitory defeats, always vi- in this and some other articles, to give sibly triumphant in the grand field of our readers an opportunity of judging human warfare. Hence he looks over for themselves, whether he is or is not the world of life, and man, with a great Poet. This they will best be a sublime benignity; and hence, de- enabled to do by fair and full critiques lighting in all the gracious dispensa- on all his principal Poems, and by full. tions of God, his great mind can and copious quotations from them, sewholly deliver itself up to the love of lected in an admiring but impartial a Aower budding in the field, or ofa spirit. We purpose to enter, after this child asleep in its cradle; nor, in doing has been done, at some length into the so, feels that Poetry can be said to stoop peculiarities of his system and of his or to descend, much less to be de- genius, which we humbly conceive we graded, when she embodies, in words have studied with more care, and, we of music, the purest and most delight- fear not to say, with more knowledge ful fancies and affections of the human and to better purpose, than any writer heart. This love of the nature to in the Edinburgh Review. Indeed, which he belongs, and which is in the general conviction of those whose him the fruit of wisdom and experi- opinions are good for any thing on the ence, gives to all his Poetry a very subject of Poetry is, that, however peculiar, a very endearing, and, at the excellent many of the detached remarks same time, a very lofty character. His on particular passages may be, scarcely Poetry is little coloured by the artifi- one syllable of truth-that is, of knowa cial distinctions of society. In his de- ledge-has ever appeared in the Edinlineations of passion or character, he burgh Review on the general principles is not so much guided by the varieties of Wordsworth's Poetry, or, as it has produced by customs, institutions, been somewhat vaguely, and not very professions, or modes of life, as by philosophically, called, the Lake School those great elementary laws of our of Poetry. We quarrel with no critic nature which are unchangeable and for his mere critical opinions; and in the same; and therefore the pathos the disquisitions which, ere long, we and the truth of his most felicitous shall enter into on this subject, we Poetry are more profound than of any shall discuss all disputed points with other, not unlike the most touching perfect amenity, and even amity, toand beautiful passages in the Sacred wards those who,“

totó cælo," dissent Page. The same spirit of love, and from our views. There is by far too benignity, and etherial purity, which much wrangling and jangling in our breathes over all his pictures of the periodical criticism. Every critic, now. virtues and the happiness of man, per- a-days, raises his bristles, as if he were ; vades those too of external nature. afraid of being thought too tame and i Indeed, all the Poets of the age, and good-natured. There is a want of none can dispute that they must like- genial feeling in professional judges of wise be the best Critics,-have given Poetry; and this want is not always up to him the palm in that Poetry supplied by a deep knowledge of the which commerces with the forms, and laws. For our own parts, we intend hues, and odours, and sounds, of the at all times to write of great living material world. He has brightened Poets in the same spirit of love and the earth we inhabit to our eyes ; he reverence with which it is natural to has made it more musical to our ears ; regard the dead and the sanctified;

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and this is the only spirit in which a That “bliss with mortal Man may not abide." critic can write of his contemporaries How nearly joy and sorrow are allied ! without frequent dogmatism, presump- For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow, tion, and injustice.

For us the voice of melody was mute. We shall now direct the attention-But, as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow of our readers to the “ White Doe of And give the timid herbage leave to shoot, Rylstone,” a poem which exhibits in Heaven's breathing influence failed not to

bestow perfection many of Wordsworth's pe

A timely promise of unlooked-for fruit, culiar beauties, and, it may be, some

Fair fruit of pleasure and serene content of his peculiar defects. It is in itself from blossoms wild of fancies innocent. a whole; and on that account we prefer beginning with it, in place of the

It soothed us--it beguiled us—then, to hear Lyrical Ballads,” or the subsequent

Once more of troubles wrought by magic spell;

And griefs whose aery motion comes not near “ Poems” of the author, which con

The pangs that tempt the Spirit to rebel ; tain specimens of so many different

Then, with mild Una in her sober chear, styles ; and still more, in place of the

High over hill and low adown the dell Excursion,” which, though a great Again we wandered, willing to partake work in itself, is but a portion of a All that she suffered for her dear Lord's sake. still greater one, and will afford sub

Then, too, this Song of mine once more ject-matter for more than one long

could please, Article.

Where, anguish, strange as dreams of restThis Poem is prefaced by some

less sleep, stanzas addressed to the wife of the Is tempered and allayed by sympathies Poet, in which a touching allusion is Aloft ascending, and descending deep, made to severe domestic afflictions, Even to the inferior Kinds; whom forest trees (the death, we believe, of two children

Protect from beating sunbeams, and the sweep do whom all that looked on loved,”)

Of the sharp winds ;-fair Creatures !-to

whom Heaven that direfully interrupted, for a while, A calm and sinless life, with love, hath given. the flow of imagination in his soul, but the softened memory of which

This tragic Story cheared us; for it speaks blended at last, not undelightfully,

Of female patience winning firm repose ; with the mournful and tragic character And of the recompense which conscience seeks of this “ tale of tears." No verses in

A bright, encouraging example shows;

Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest the language are more simply yet pro- breaks, foundly affecting; and we are sure Needful amid life's ordinary woes ;that they will dispose every feeling Hence, not for them unfitted who would bless mind to come to the perusal of the A happy hour with holier happiness. Poem itself with the most kindly and

He serves the Muses erringly and ill, sympathetic emotions.

Whose aim is pleasure light and fugitive: In trellis'd shed with clustering roses gay,

0, that my mind were equal to fulfil And, Mary! oft beside our blazing fire, The comprehensive mandate which they When years of wedded life were as a day

give Whose current answers to the heart's desire, Vain aspiration of an earnest will ! Did we together read in Spenser's Lay

Yet in this moral Strain a power may live, How Una, sad of soulmin sad attire,

Beloved Wife ! such solace to impart The gentle Una, born of heavenly birth, As it hath yielded to thy tender heart. To seek her Knight went wandering o'er the The Poem is founded on a wild and earth.

beautiful tradition, that in former Ah, then, Beloved ! pleasing was the smart, times a White Doe, coming over the And the tear precious in compassion shed hills from what once were the deFor Her, who, pierc'd by sorrow's thrilling mesnes of Rylstone Hall, in Yorkshire, dart,

visited, every Sabbath morning, duDid meekly bear the pang unmerited ;

ring the time of divine service, the Meek as that emblem of her lowly heart, The milk-white Lamb which in a line she led, burial-ground and the ruined part of And faithful, loyal in her innocence,

Bolton Abbey: The Poet undertakes Like the brave Lion slain in her defence. to give a poetical character to this so

litary and mysterious creature, and to Notes could we hear as of a faery shell

connect with its Sabbath visit to the Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught; holy place a tale of human passions. Free Fancy prized each specious miracle, And all its finer inspiration caught ;

The first canto begins with an ani”Till, in the bosom of our rustic Cell,

mated and picturesque description of We by a lamentable change were taught

the assemblage of people to divine


service in a rural chapel built within Her Son in Wharf's abysses drowned, the heart of the solemn ruins,

The noble Boy of Egremnound.

From which affliction, when God's grace When faith and hope were in their prime, In great Eliza's golden time.

At length had in her heart found place, All is silent but the voice of the priest Rose up this stately Priory !

A pious structure, fair to see, reciting the holy liturgy, and of the The Lady's work, but now laid low; river murmuring by,

To the grief of her soul that doth come and go, When soft !-the dusky trees between,

In the beautiful form of this innocent Doe : And down the path through the open green, Which, though seemingly doomed in its Where is no living thing to be seen ;

breast to sustain And through yon gateway, where is found, A softened remembrance of sorrow and pain, Beneath the arch with ivy bound,

Isspotless, and holy, and gentle, and bright, Free entrance to the church-yard ground;

And glides o'er the earth like an angelof light. And right across the verdant sod

An Oxford scholar, who has returned Towards the very house of God;

to his native vale, supposes, still more Comes gliding in with lovely gleam, fancifully, that it is the shape assumed Comes gliding in serene and slow, Soft and silent as a dream,

by the guardian Spirit of that Lord

Clifford called the Shepherd Lord.
A solitary Doe!
White she is as lily of June,

It is, thinks he, the gracious Fairy,
And beauteous as the silver moon

Who loved the Shepherd Lord to meet When out of sight the clouds are driven,

In his wanderings solitary ; And she is left alone in heaven ;

Wild notes she in his heariog sang, Or like a ship some gentle day

A song of Nature's hidden powers ; In sunshine sailing far away,

That whistled like the wind, and rang A glittering ship, that hath the plain Among the rocks and holly bowers. Of ocean for her own domain.

'Twas said that she all shapes could wear ; This radiant creature glides silently Amid the trees of some thick wood,

And oftentimes before him stood, to and fro over the sculptured tomb- În semblance of a lady fair, stones of warriors, and through the And taught him signs, and shewed him sights, ivied arches of the ruin, the desolation in Craven's dens, on Cumbria's heights ; of which is painted by a few mournful When under cloud of fear he lay, touches, and then,

A shepherd clad in homely gray, Beside the ridge of a grassy grave

Nor left him at his later day. In quietness she lays her down;

And hence, when he, with spear and shield, Gently as a weary wave

Rode full of years to Flodden field, Sinks, when the summer breeze hath died,

His eye could see the hidden spring,

And how the current was to flow;
Against an anchored vessel's side;
Even so, without distress, doth she

The fatal end of Scotland's King,
Lie down in peace, and lovingly.

And all that hopeless overthrow. The spot where she has made her

The Poet thus prepares our minds, Sabbath couch is thus more particu- by these beautiful little fancies and larly described.

imaginings, and by the soft and solemn It was a solitary mound;

colouring which he has thrown over Which two spears’ length of level ground the scene haunted by the lovely visitDid from all other graves divide :

ant, for his own story, which we feel As if in some respect of pride;

is to be a melancholy one, suiting the Or melancholy's sickly mood,

utter solitude of the pile. Still shy of human neighbourhood ; Or guilt, that humbly would express

And see--they vanish, one by one,

And last, the Doe herself is gone. A penitential loneliness.

In Canto II. the Poet at once reWhen the congregation come into the church-yard at the close of the turns to the source of his tale and traservice, the White Doe is seen still dition. Norton of Rylstone Hall has lying undisturbed and fearless beside engaged with Neville and Percy in the little hallowed mound, and the their rebellion against Queen Elizaconjectures of various speakers are

beth, on the plea of wishing to restore given respecting the beautiful noon

the ancient religion; and his only day apparition. Among others, daughter, Emily, who had been inAn Old Man-studious to expound

structed by her deceased mother in

the reformed faith, has been compelled The spectacle-hath mounted high To days of dim antiquity ;

by him to work a banner, on which is When Lady Aäliza mourned

embroidered Her Son, and felt in her despair,

The sacred Cross ; and figured there The pang of unavailing prayer ;

The five dear wounds our Lord did bear;

groves round

Full soon to be uplifted high,

If not in vain we have breathed the breath And float in rueful company!

Together of a purer faithAll the sons of Norton join him in If hand in hand we have been led, his rebellion, except the eldest, Fran. And thou, (0 happy thought this day !) cis, who foresees its calamitous end,

Not seldoin foremost in the way and ineffectually tries to dissuade his if on one thought our minds have fed, father from the rash enterprise. He if, when at home our private weal

And we have in one meaning read is dismissed with scorn and wrath

Hath suffered from the shock of zeal, from his father's presence; and seek

Together we have learned to prizę ing his beloved sister, who had gone Forbearance, and self-sacrifice to vent her sorrow the

If we like combatants have fared, the Hall, he endeavours to prepare her And for this issue been prepared soul for the death of her father and all If thou art beautiful, and youth her brothers, and for the utter over- And thought endue thee with all truth throw of their ancient and illustrious Be strong ;-be worthy of the grace house. Nothing can exceed, in simple A soul, by force of sorrows high,

Of God, and fill thy destined place : and solemn earnestness, the whole of Uplifted to the purest sky this mournful prophecy. For example, of undisturbed humanity !” “O Sister, I could prophesy !

He ended, or she heard no more ; The time is come that rings the knell He led her from the Yew-tree shade, Of all we loved, and loved so well ;

And at the Mansion's silent door, Hope nothing, if I thus may speak

He kissed the consecrated Maid ; To thee a woman, and thence weak; And down the Valley he pursued, Hope nothing, I repeat; for we

Alone, the armed Multitude. Are doomed to perish utterly :

The third canto is wholly occupied Tis meet that thou with me divide

with a detail of the rising in the The thought while I am by thy side, Acknowledging a grace this,

North, and the disarray of the rash A comfort in the dark abyss :

levy on the approach of the royal army But look not for me when I am gone,

under Dudley. Old Norton now feels And be no farther wrought upon.

that ruin is at hand. Farewell all wishes, all debate,

Back through the melancholy Host
All prayers for this cause, or for that! . Went Norton, and resumed his post.
Weep, if that aid thee; but depend Alas! thought he, and have I borne
Upon no help of outward friend;

This Banner raised so joyfully,
Espouse thy doom at once, and cleave This hope of all posterity,
To fortitude without reprieve.

Thus to become at once the scorn
For we must fall, both we and ours, Of babbling winds as they go by,,
This Mansion and these pleasant bowers; A spot of shame to the sun's bright eye;
Walks, pools, and arbours, homestead, hall, To the frail clouds a mockery!
Our fate is theirs, will reach them all ; -So speaking, he upraised his head
The young Horse must forsake his manger, Towards that Imagery once more ;
And learn to glory in a Stranger ;

But the familiar prospect shed The Hawk forget his perch,--the Hound Despondency unfelt before : Be parted from his ancient ground:

A shock of intimations vain, The blast will sweep us all away,

Blank fear, and superstitious pain, One desolation, one decay!

Fell on him, with the sudden thought And even this Creature!" which words saying Of her by whom the work was wrought :He pointed to a lovely Doe,

Oh wherefore was her countenance bright A few steps distant, feeding, straying ; With love divine and gentle light ? Fair Creature, and more white than snow! She did in passiveness obey, “ Even she will to her peaceful woods But her Faith leaned another way;. Return, and to her murmuring floods, Il tears she wept.--I saw them fall, And be in heart and soul the same

I overheard her as she spake She was before she hither came,

Sad words to that mute Animal, Ere she had learned to love us all,

The White Doe, in the hawthorn brake ; Herself beloved in Rylstone Hall."

She steeped, but not for Jesu's sake, The canto ends with some fervent This Cross in tears :- by her, and One entreaties and prayers that she will

Unworthier far, we are undone cherish no earthly họpe, but look to

Her Brother was it who assailed Heaven alone for support, in the or

Her tender spirit and prevailed.

Her other parent, too, whose head phan and brotherless state in which

In the cold grave hath long been laid, she will soon be placed.

From reason's earliest dawn beguiled
" But thou, my Sister, doonied to be The docile, unsuspecting Child :
The last leaf which by Heaven's decree Far back-far back my mind must go
Must hang upon a blasted tree;

To reach the well-spring of this woe!

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