"And summer was the tide, and sweet the hour, When sire and daughter saw, with fleet descent, An Indian from his bark approach their bow'r," &c. pp. 12, 13. This is the guide and preserver of young Henry Waldegrave; who is somewhat fantastically described as appearing "Led by his dusky guide, like Morning brought by Night.' The Indian tells his story with great anima- "And from the tree we with her child unbound pray. Our virgins fed her with their kindly bowls Albert recognises the child of his murdered friend, with great emotion; which the Indian witnesses with characteristic and picturesque composure. "Far differently the Mute Oneyda took A stoic of the woods-a man without a tear.-" p. 20. "A valley from the river shore withdrawn beautifully represented. 66 It seem'd as if those scenes sweet influence had on Gertrude's soul, and kindness like their own That each succeeding look was lovelier than the last. With all its picturesque and balmy grace, The morning scenery, too, is touched with The reader is left rather too much in the dark as to Henry's departure for Europe;nor, indeed, are we apprised of his absence, till we come to the scene of his unexpected return. Gertrude was used to spend the hot part of the day in reading in a lonely and rocky recess in those safe woods; which is described with Mr. Campbell's usual felicity. "Rocks sublime This warrior, however, is not without high To human art a sportive semblance wore ; feelings and tender affections. "He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe: And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung, Or laced his mocasins, in act to go, A song of parting to the boy he sung, And yellow lichens colour'd all the clime, by time. "But high, in amphitheatre above, Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his friend-Breath'd but an air of heav'n, and all the grove ly tongue. "Sleep, wearied one! and in the dreaming land stanza. As if instinct with living spirit grew, In this retreat, which is represented as so solitary, that except her own, scarce an ear had heard The stock-dove plaining through its gloom profound. Or winglet of the fairy humming bird, Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round." p. 34. a stranger of lofty port and gentle manners surprises her, one morning, and is conducted to her father. They enter into conversation on the subject of his travels. "And much they lov'd his fervid strainWhile he each fair variety retrac'd Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main. Than all the city's pomp and home of human kind. Albert, at last, bethinks him of inquiring after his stray ward young Henry; and entertains his guest with a short summary of his history. "His face the wand'rer hid ;-but could not hide 'Tis Waldegrave's self. of Waldegrave come to care!"-p. 39 The first overflowing of their joy and artless love is represented with all the fine colours of truth and poetry; but we cannot now make room for it. The Second Part ends with this stanza :— "Then would that home admit them-happier far p. 43. The Last Part sets out with a soft but spirited sketch of their short-lived felicity. "Three little moons, how short! amidst the grove, And pastoral savannas they consume! While she, beside her buskin'd youth to rove, Delights, in fancifully wild costume, Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume; "What though the sportive dog oft round them note, The transition to the melancholy part of the story is introduced with great tenderness and dignity. But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth? The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below! And must I change my song? and must I show, Sweet Wyoming! the day, when thou wert doom'd, Guiltless, to mourn thy loveliest bow'rs laid low! When, where of yesterday a garden bloom'd. Death overspread his pall, and black'ning ashes gloom'd? When Transatlantic Liberty arose; "Sad was the year, by proud Oppression driv'n, Not in the sunshine, and the smile of heav'n, Her birth star was the light of burning plains; Gertrude's alarm and dejection at the pros pect of hostilities are well described: O, meet not thou," she cries, "thy kindred foe! But peaceful let us seek fair England's strand," &c. -as well as the arguments and generous sentiments by which her husband labours to reconcile her to a necessary evil. The nocturnal irruption of the old Indian is given with great spirit:-Age and misery had so changed his appearance, that he was not at first recognised by any of the party. And ey'd the group with half indignant air), And hast thou then forgot'-he cried forlorn, "It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame, Ere Henry to his lov'd Oneyda flew : [came, 'Bless thee, my guide!'-but, backward, as he The chief his old bewilder'd head withdrew, And grasp'd his arm, and look'd and look'd him through. 'Twas strange-nor could the group a smile control, The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view :At last delight o'er all his features stole, [soul. It is my own!' he cried, and clasp'd him to his "Yes! thou recall'st my pride of years; for then The bowstring of my spirit was not slack, [men, When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambush'd I bore thee like the quiver on my back, Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack; Nor foeman then, nor cougar's crouch I fear'd, For I was strong as mountain cataract; And dost thou not remember how we cheer'd Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts ap.. pear'd?'"'-pp. 54-56. After warning them of the approach of their terrible foe, the conflagration is seen, and the whoops and scattering shot of the enemy heard at a distance. The motley militia of the neigbourhood flock to the defence of Albert: the effect of their shouts and music on the old Indian is fine and striking. Old Outalissi woke his battle song, "Rous'd by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and [cheer, And beating with his war-club cadence strong, Tells how his deep-stung indignation smarts,' &c. p. 61. Nor is the contrast of this savage enthusiasm with the venerable composure of Albert 'ess beautifully represented." "Calm, opposite the Christian Father rose, They then speed their night march to the distant fort, whose wedged ravelins and redoubts "Wove like a diadem, its tracery round The lofty summit of that mountain green "and look back from its lofty height on the desolated scenes around them. We will not separate, nor apologize for the length of the fine passage that follows; which alone, we think, might justify all we have said in praise of the poem. "A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun, "But short that contemplation! sad and short [flew, Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners Ah! who could deem that foot of Indian crew Was near?-Yet there, with lust of murd'rous deeds, [dust! "Clasp me a little longer, on the brink In future times-no gentle little one, To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me! "Hush'd were his Gertrude's lips! but still their bland With love that could not die! and still his hand Pp. 64-68. The funeral is hurried over with pathetic brevity; and the desolate and all-enduring Indian brought in again with peculiar beauty. "Touch'd by the music, and the melting scene, Was scarce one tearless eye amidst the crowd;Stern warriors, resting on their swords, were seen To veil their eyes, as pass'd each much-lov'd shroud- While woman's softer soul in woe dissolv'd aloud. After some time spent in this mute and awful pause, this stern and heart-struck comforter breaks out into the following touching and energetic address, with which the poem closes, with great spirit and abruptness: "And I could weep;'-th' Oneyda chief But that I may not stain with grief For by my wrongs, and by my wrath! (That fires yon heaven with storms of death) And we shall share, my Christian boy! "But thee, my flow'r! whose breath was giv'n By milder genii o'er the deep, The spirits of the white man's heav'n But when the bolt of death is hurl'd, He bids my soul for battle thirst- It is needless, after these extracts, to enLarge upon the beauties of this poem. They consist chiefly in the feeling and tenderness of the whole delineation, and the taste and delicacy with which all the subordinate parts are made to contribute to the general effect. Before dismissing it, however, we must say a little of its faults, which are sufficiently obvious and undeniable. In the first place, the narrative is extremely obscure and imperfect; and has greater blanks in it than could be tolerated even in lyric poetry. We hear absolutely nothing of Henry, from the day the Indian first brings him from the back country, till he returns from Europe fifteen years thereafter. It is likewise a great oversight in Mr. Campbell to separate his lovers, when only twelve years of age-a period at which it is utterly inconceivable that any permanent attachment could have been formed. The greatest fault, however, of the work, is the occasional constraint and obscurity of the diction, proceeding apparently from too laborious an effort at emphasis or condensation. The metal seems in several places to have been so much overworked, as to have lost not only its ductility, but its lustre; and, while there are passages which can scarcely be at all understood after the most careful consideration, there are others which have an air so elaborate and artificial, as to destroy all appearance of nature in the sentiment. Our readers may have remarked something of this sort, in the first extracts with which we have presented them; but there are specimens still more exceptionable. In order to inform us that Albert had lost his wife, Mr. Campbell is pleased to say, that If Mr. Campbell had duly considered the primary necessity of perspicuity-especially in compositions which aim only at pleasingwe are persuaded that he would never have left these and some other passages in so very questionable a state. There is still a good deal for him to do, indeed, in a new edition: and working as he must work-in the true spirit and pattern of what is before him, we hope he will yet be induced to make considerable additions to a work, which will please those most who are most worthy to be pleased; and always seem most beautiful to those who give it the greatest share of their attention. Of the smaller pieces which fill up the volume, we have scarce left ourselves room to say any thing. The greater part of them have been printed before; and there are probably few readers of English poetry who are not already familiar with the Lochiel and the Hohinlinden-the one by far the most spirited and poetical denunciation of coming woe, since the days of Cassandra, the other the only representation of a modern battle, which possesses either interest or sublimity. The song to "the Mariners of England," is also very generally known. It is a splendid instance of the most magnificent diction adapted to a familiar and even trivial metre. Nothing can be finer than the first and the last stanzas. 66 Ye mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, Your glorious standard launch again And sweep through the deep," &c.—p. 101. Till danger's troubled night depart, it has been printed before, is much less known. "The Battle of the Baltic," though we think Though written in a strange, and we think an unfortunate metre, it has great force and grandeur, both of conception and expressionthat sort of force and grandeur which results from the simple and concise expression of great events and natural emotions, altogether unassisted by any splendour or amplification of expression. The characteristic merit, indeed, both of this piece and of Hohinlinden, is, that, by the forcible delineation of one or two great circumstances, they give a clear and most energetic representation of events as complicated as they are impressive-and thus impress the mind of the reader with all the terror and sublimity of the subject, while they rescue him from the fatigue and perplexity of its details. Nothing in our judgment can be more impressive than the following very short and simple description of the British fleet bearing up to close action: "As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death! The description of the battle itself (though it begins with a tremendous line) is in the same spirit of homely sublimity; and worth a thou sand stanzas of thunder, shrieks, shouts, tri. dents, and heroes. "Hearts of oak,' our captains cried! when | When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in From its adamantine lips [each gun Spread a death-shade round the ships! Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Till a feebler cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back ; Their shots along the deep slowly boom :- As they strike the shatter'd sail; There are two little ballad pieces, published for the first time, in this collection, which have both very considerable merit, and afford a favourable specimen of Mr. Campbell's powers in this new line of exertion. longest is the most beautiful; but we give our readers the shortest, because we can give it entire. The "O heard ye yon pibråch sound sad in the gale, Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail? 'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear; And her sire, and the people, are called to her bier. "Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud; Her kinsmen they follow'd, but mourn'd not aloud: Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around: They march'd all in silence-they look'd on the ground. scorn, 'Twas the youth who had lov'd the fair Ellen of Lorn: "I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, "In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, We close this volume, on the whole, with feelings of regret for its shortness, and of admiration for the genius of its author. There are but two noble sorts of poetry-the pathetic and the sublime; and we think he has given very extraordinary proofs of his talents for both. There is something, too, we will venture to add, in the style of many of his conceptions, which irresistibly impresses us with the conviction, that he can do much greater things than he has hitherto accomplished; and leads us to regard him, even yet, as a poet of still greater promise than performance. It seems to us, as if the natural force and boldness of his ideas were habitually checked by a certain fastidious timidity, and an anxi "In silence they reach'd over mountain and moor.ety about the minor graces of correct and To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar; Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn: Why speak ye no word?'-said Glenara the stern. "And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse, Why fold you your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?' chastened composition. Certain it is, at least, that his greatest and most lofty flights have been made in those smaller pieces, about which, it is natural to think, he must have felt least solicitude; and that he has suc ceeded most splendidly where he must have been most free from the fear of failure. We wish any praises or exhortations of ours had the power to give him confidence in his own great talents; and hope earnestly, that he will now meet with such encouragement, as may set him above all restraints that proceed from apprehension; and induce him to give free scope to that genius, of which we are persuaded that the world has hitherto seen rather the grace than the richness. (January, 1825.) Theodric, a Domestic Tale: with other Poems. By THOMAS CAMPBELL. 12mo. pp. 150. London: 1824. IF Mr. Campbell's poetry was of a kind that could be forgotten, his long fits of silence would put him fairly in the way of that misfortune. But, in truth, he is safe enough; and has even acquired, by virtue of his exemplary laziness, an assurance and pledge of immortality which he could scarcely have obtained without it. A writer who is still fresh in the mind and favour of the public, ufter twenty years' intermission, may reason ably expect to be remembered when death shall have finally sealed up the fountains of his inspiration; imposed silence on the cavils of envious rivals, and enhanced the value of those relics to which it excludes the possi bility of any future addition. At all events, he has better proof of the permanent interest the public take in his productions, than those ever can have who are more diligent in their multiplication, and keep themselves in the recollection of their great patron by more fre quent intimations of their existence. The experiment, too, though not without its haz ards, is advantageous in another respect;-for the re-appearance of such an author, after those long periods of occultation, is naturally hailed as a novelty-and he receives the double welcome, of a celebrated stranger, and |