Of all the visions seen. Yet in his hand He saw the well known tents that crown'd the hills The fourth book opens with an address to the first hour of morning; after invoking which, our Author, entering again upon the business of this nether world, introduces us to Dan, the valiant chief of Funen, who is roused from the repose in which he is indulging, ready-armed, by a terrified scout, who informs him that he has seen the leader of the warlike strangers guiding his troops, by light of many a flaming torch,' towards the cave of the Vola, whence he infers that they must be sons of Loke, and that all the infernal powers will range themsolves on their side in the field of battle. Dauntless Dan,' in no wise appalled at this intelligence, blows his horn, rouses his allies, and sallies forth at their head. An episode of a softer nature is now brought forward. Shiold, the son of Dan, is roused from his bridal bed, by the blast of the trumpet, and a dialogue ensues between him and his Nora, which we do not regard as the happiest part of the performance. It is forced, and by no means accords with the condition of the speakers. A warrior, even of modern days, bastily putting on his accoutrements, and arming himself for the fight, however tenderly he might take leave of his wife individually, would scarcely wait to compliment her sex in general, in the following affected style : "Farewell a while," the youthful warrior said, To charm, to soften, and to polish man.' p. 139. These fine speeches are, however, suddenly put a stop to, by the sight of a gorgeous gauntlet, glittering in the grass, which Nora acknowledges to have been dropped by a young stranger, who had once intruded on her solitude, during her husband's absence. Jealousy seizes on the soul of Shiold. He sends his wife back to her father, and rushes forth to the fight, in the hope of finding his rival, who proves to be Narses, the son of Pharnaces. He overpowers him in single combat, and a fine description of the field of battle ensues; in which the gloomy and terrific images of the northern mythology appear with peculiar effect. Just when the mind is impressed with all the horrors of the scene,-with Modguder, -on her war-horse mounted black as night, And beating loudly her enchanted drum,' with Hela, shrouded queen of ghosts, Mysterious awful phantom, silent shade, and Loke, the demon-king,-suddenly a shout is heard, and Pharnaces appears in magnific panoply,' under the name, and vested with the outward attributes of Odin, by whom the Scandinavians believed themselves to be deserted, after the triumph of Marius in the Cimbric war. His re-appearance among them is therefore hailed with frantic joy. He tells them that he is come to join them in one band of fraternity, to give them the same laws, and exalt their power above the clouds of heaven. Ruled by one prince, united by one name, His speech is received with loud acclamations, and the poem, or rather the first part of it, concludes with a song from the Scalds, which is extremely spirited, abounding in imagery, glowing and animated as that of the Orientals, yet strictly in character with the simplicity and vigour of the North. The Runic harps seem to vibrate on our ear as we close the volume with feelings similar to those which are experienced, when, after an active scene, a numerous assemblage begins to disperse, and all gradually subsides into quietness and rest. Such is the first part of Sir William Drummond's poem, which would be complete as a whole, were it not for the uncertainty in which we are left with regard to the fate of Nora. That the public, after this specimen of the Author's poetical talents, should not be desirous of seeing the remainder of his work, can scarcely be questioned. On the expectation of seeing it forthcoming ere very long, we shall proceed to point out such blemishes as have struck us in our examination of his performance. We have already stated, that the Author anticipates his failure of success with the public, on account of his having chosen blank verse as the vehicle of his sentiments. It would, however, be paying the public taste a bad compliment, to imagine that it can prefer the jingling and Hudibrastic rhymes in which our poetical romances, or romantic poems, have been lat ly written, to that stately and varied march of rhythm, in which our language peculiarly finds itself at ease, and which has been chosen by all our finest poets, as the fittest mode of expressing their feelings. Equally adapted to the simple and the majestic, from the ease with which it admits of every variety of cadence, and its susceptibility of the highest degree of ornament, blank verse possesses advantages over every other species of poetry, when epic, narrative, dramatic, or didactic subjects, are to be treated of. Short and irregular measures are utterly incompatible with them; quatrains confine alike the sense and the sentence to the compass of the verse; and the regular rhyming couplet of ten feet, brought to exquisite perfection by Dryden and Pope, is still liable to restraints and to a monotony, which unfit it for the expression of violent passion, as is strikingly exemplified in our heroic tragedies, where the hero in vain endeavours to bluster, with big words in his mouth, when he is obliged to drop his voice at the end of every rhyme. To object to the use of blank verse in itself, is traitorous to the merits of our own language. Sir William Drummond's blank verse is unexceptionable. It is smooth, yet vigorous and varied. Faulty lines occasionally occur; but such as are faulty in point of taste, as well as rhythm, very seldom. We must advert, however, to one in the soliloquy of Pharnaces. My native land is made a den of thieves.' p. 36, 1. 4. This is both inelegant, and exceptionable on account of its resemblance to Scripture phraseology, of which, in subsequent passages, Sir William has sometimes judiciously availed himself. Our Author has been before hand with the critics, in acknowledging that he has used certain words as dissyllables, which are now generally measured as one only; and others in their original signification, rather than in that which they have gained from the corruption of time, or innovations made upon the construction of our mother tongue. In using the word beaven as a monosyllable, or as a dissyllable, we conceive that the poet ought to be guided by the degree of importance annexed to the word in the sense in which it is used. This distinction cannot be better illustrated than in the examples from Shakspeare, which Sir William brings forward in support of his use of it as a dissyllable. Like the herald Mercury, -it is a knell, That summons thee to heaven or to hell.' The impressive pause in the last of these examples, upon the word heaven, sufficiently authorises the dwelling upon its separate syllables, which in the first has a weak effect, because the epithet is not of sufficient importance to sustain the attention. Similar instances may be quoted from our Author. • Who climb'd to heaven, as vain fables tell.' p. 42. 1. 18. In regard to the restoration of words to their original signification, where nothing is gained by so doing, it is scarcely worth while to attempt it. Words, as well as living things, are liable to die a natural death of old age; but it seldom happens that they depart before they have provided themselves with successors, who fully represent their meaning. To interrupt the feelings of the reader, therefore, in an animated passage, by the unnecessary introduction of a word which obliges him to lay down the poem, and take up his glossary, is as injudicious as it would be in a public speaker to suspend the sympathy of his audience, in the midst of an eloquent appeal, by some impertinent nicety of pronunciation, which refers the mind to the etymological details of the dictionary. In the following restoration of a wellknown word to its original sense, we cannot perceive that any thing is gained by the Author. The Phoenix Orient, fledge with golden plumes.' p. 52.1 6. When epithets are borrowed, it is not politic to exhibit them too often. Grim visaged war,' (p. 40. 1. 4.) is too Shaksperian to escape notice the first time; but our Author is so well pleased with his spoil, that very soon after he represents winter as 'grim visaged,' also. (p. 63, 1. 19.) Sir William Drummond's style is obviously formed upon the model of the Paradise Lost. We are better plc sed, however, with the general resemblance to Milton, which his learning and classical taste enable him to keep up, in erudite allusion, and richness of ornament, than with his close imitation of particular passages. The following description of the Evil Deity will bear to be put in competition with the account of the various idols through the heathen world,' in the first book of the Paradise Lost. * All times have known him, and all nations fcar'd. Her innocents. Yet the malefic fiend, Shaking their thyrsi, calling on their God, Of drums, and cymbals, round his magic van.' p. 113. Milton is exquisitely happy in similies and allusions taken from particular scenes or objects in nature. Our readers remember his beautiful illustration of the size of the Levia than. Him, haply, slumbering on the Norway foam; Moors by his side, under the lee, while night Paradise Lost. Book I. Who can read this passage without deriving a gratification of the highest kind, from the complete picture which the mind involuntarily forms for itself, from this sketch, exquisite in its simplicity? Many of Sir William Drummond's similies are conceived in a similar spirit; but they are rather deficient in variety. The appearance of the Genius of Gotha is thus described. Thus spake Pharnaces. Soon the sky grew dark. |