hope that the profits of this volume may enable him to enjoy the advantages of a collegiate education, with a view, we presume, to ordination. In this hope, we fear and believe he will be disappointed; but disgraceful as the want of patronage has ever been in England, we will indulge the hope that some powerful patron will be found on the present occasion-some person of rank and opu. lence who will seize the easy opportunity of securing and deserving the thanks of posterity by doing good. That this young poet is deserving of every encouragement which the public can bestow, the following extracts will sufficiently evince. "Now, when the rustic wears the social smile, Releas'd from day and its attendant toil, And draws his household round their evening fire, And tells the oft-told tales that never tire: Or, where the town's blue turrets dimly rise, And manufacture taints the ambient skies, The pale mechanic leaves the lab'ring loom, The air-pent hold, the pestilential room, And rushes out, impatient to begin The stated course of customary sin : Now, now, my solitary way I bend Where solemn groves in awful state impend, And cliffs, that boldly rise above the plain, Bespeak, blest Clifton! thy sublime domain. Here, lonely wand'ring o'er the sylvan bow'r, I come, to pass the meditative hour; Toda while the strife of passion cease, And woo the calm of solitude and peace. And oh! thou sacred pow'r, who rear'st on high Thy leafy throne where waving poplars sigh! Genius of woodland shades! whose mild controul steals with resistless witch'ry to the soul, Come with thy wonted ardour, and inspire My glowing bosom with thy hallow'd fire. And thou too fancy! from thy starry sphere, Where to the hymning orbs thou tend'st thine ear, Do thou descend, and bless my ravish'd sight, Weil'd in soft visions of serene delight. At thy command the gale that passes by ars in its whispers mystic harmony. nod way'st thy wand, and lo! what forms appear! On the dark cloud what giant shapes career! the ghosts of Ossian skim the misty vale, And hosts of sylphids on the moon-beam sail. Dear native grove! where'er my devious track, To thee will mem'ry lead the wand'rer back. Whether in Arno's polish'd vales I stray, , where "Oswego's swamps" obstruct the day; wander lone, where wildering, and wide, he tumbling torrent leaves St. Gothard's side; Or, by old Tago's classic margent muse, range; Turn to these scenes, these well-known scenes once more, Trace once again Old Trent's romantic shore, And tir'd with worlds, and all their busy ways, Here waste the little remnant of my days. But if the fates should this last wish denv, And doom me to some foreign shore to dic; Oh! should it please the world's supernat King, That weltering waves my funeral dirge shall sing; Or, that my corse should on some desart strand, Lie stretch'd beneath the Simoöm's blasting hand; Still, tho' unwept I find a stranger tomb, My sprite shall wander thro' this fav'rite gloom, Ride on the wind that sweeps the leafless grove, Sigh on the wood-blast of the dark alcove, And mix its moanings with the desert Sit a lorn spectre, on von well-known grave, wave." There is nothing which we should so solicitously seek to avoid as the danger of exciting disappointment by undue praise. That the present volume has its faults, who would not expect? The story of the ballad is ill conceived, and we should censure the Hudibrastic letter if it were not for the anecdotes of the author which it contains. The tale of Bateman is given with less effect in his polished couplets than in the old ditties to which he refers, and by which we also were impressed in childhood. It would be invidious to point out these defects, without observing, that such defects must exist in the productions of a young man, and that no fault in such a case could be so ominous, as the absence of all faults. There is no sap or vigour in the tree that pushes out no shoots of wild luxuriance. One specimen more. "To the herb Rosemary. "Sweet scented flow'r! who'rt wont to bloom And as I twine the mournful wreath, "Come fun'ral flow'r! who lov'st to dwell Come press my lips, and lie with me "And hark! the wind-god as he flies Sweet flow'r that requiem wild is mine, A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er my asbes This is a most interesting poem. We know no production of so young a poct that can be compared to it, and when we say this, we remember Cowley and Pope and Chatterton. The frequent allusions to ill health throughout this volume, give us a me lancholy presentiment which we sincerely hope may be groundless. ART. VIII. Select Poems; by the Author of Indian Antiquities. 8vo. pp. 120. HAPPY is the poet whose learning, or whose genius, enables him in an age when smoothness of numbers and correctness of versification, even when combined with justness of sentiment and ele. gance of expression, can confer little distinction on one of the thousand votaries of the muses, to strike out a new path, and seize the envied prize of novelty and originality. This happiness is Mr. Maurice's in a considerable degree. The Crisis, a poem, addressed to Mr. Pitt, on the threatened French invasion in 1798, escapes the stigma of triteness even on the hacknied subjects of English freedom and heroism, and French ambition and atrocity, by the vigour of its diction, the vividness of its painting, and the glow of its colouring. The complimentary address to Mr. Pitt with which it opens, is most happily wound up in a noble simile. "For others let the fragrant incense burn, Wafted from adulation's flaming ura; Unaw'd by menaces, unwarp'd by praise, Proud sterling virtue seeks no borrow'd bays; While Genius, tow'ring on its throne of light, Shines, in its own transcendent lustre, bright; The flame it feels through kindred bosoms spreads, And wide the intellectual radiance sheds, it roll, teristic of the volume, is the one which demands our most particular attention. The bard transports himself to the tomb of" departed Genius," on the distant shores of India, and after smiting "the choral shell," in a solemn and appropriate symphony," the Genius of the East" appears to him in a flood of glory. "Not that dire spectre, who, in later days, In Asia's courts rears high her pageant shrine, Who spurns the martial plume, and loves to blaze In waste of diamonds from Golconda's mine. Oh! not that bloated monster, stain'd with blood, Who on pale harams vents her murd'rous rage; To screaming infants tends th'impoison'd food. age: But she, of elder birth, whose righteous sway This majestic female, after pouring Exhaustless, flames with undiminish'd beam, The apostrophe to the Egyptians, and exhortation to them to avenge provoked attack of the French, is a pas sage of great animation and picturesque beauty. But the poem to the memory of Sir William Jones, as the most charac SELECT POEMS. The whole skill of the poet has evidently been exerted to give discriminating strokes to the successive ravagers, from the first Mahometan conqueror of India, to the subverters of the Mogul empire, who thus pass in review; and as far as sameness on similar subjects can be avoided, he has avoided it: the difficulty of his task, it should be remembered, is greatly increased by the slight acquaintance of the general reader with the subjects of his song, which renders it necessary to narrate events in plain terms, and mention characters by name, which might otherwise have been glanced at by an allusion, or recalled to memory by a hint. Of his success, we can only give the evidence of two specimens. "Frantic with bigot rage, with blood defil'd, A gorgeous crescent gleaming on his crest, What furious demon, from Arabia's wild, Hurls desolation through the ravag'd East? "A sabredrench'd with infant gore he waves, His eves in opium's wildest frenzy roll; And, while of sacred rites the maniac raves,.. Lust and revenge pollute his guilty soul. "O'er Persia wide his myriad host he pours, Burning for spoil, for human blood athirst; Resistless, India, on thy fertile shores, Tossing their flaming brands, his legions burst. "Invincible the iron phalanx moves, Dreadful as wasting storms or raging fire: Delhi, again, a victor's vengeance proves, Again her butcher'd sons in heaps expire. "Tho' all Golconda flames before their eyes, Not all Golconda can appease their rage: Unmov'd they hear the screaming infants'cries, Unaw'd, the curses of expiring age." The striking beauty of the two last lines we need scarcely point out. currence to the lamented subject of the elegy, and a procession of the inferior genii of India concludes the piece. Westminster Abbey," is a less happy effort of our author. The remarks on the vanity of every thing human, which make a large part of it, though clothed in poetical language, are trite in the extreme, and too much dwelt upon; for after all, "These little things are great to little man." In characterizing the distinguished persons, whose monuments he contemplates, he is not very accurate or intelligible. We are quite at a loss to know which of our Edwards is intended to be celebrated in the following passage: "O'er sainted Edward's shrine, Devotion, And crowns from brows of vanquish'd monarchs torn." The last line seems to apply to Ed. ward III.; but by what action of his blood-stained conquering reign he has acquired a title to the meek honours of saintship, we confess ourselves totally ignorant. The very offensive, though common fault, of placing persons of small renown on a level with characters of the highest fame, is prominent in this stanza : "Where hath not glory wafted Vernon's name? Where Wager, Warren, are your deeds unsung? Where Churchill, Townshend, eldest sons of fame, And Wolfe, the theme of ev'ry Briton's tongue ?" If the reader pauses a moment at the name of one of the pretended" eldest sons of fame," to ask, "Who was he?" the whole effect of such a passage is lost. The Hymn to Mithra" serves to display the author's oriental learning, and powers of lofty versification; it pos sesses much grandeur of imagery, and poetic description, but from the recondite nature of the subject, it is little fitted to interest any reader, and from the deficiency of notes, will probably be unintelligible to many. We must beg to suggest, with submission to Mr. M's deep knowledge on the subject, an incongruity in enumerating the planets by their Grecian names of Jupiter, Mars, &c. whilst the sun and moon are designated by their Persian appellations of Mithra and A starte. We cannot but enter our protest against the presumption of our author, in admitting one of his schoolboy exercises, though sanctioned by the applause of Dr. Johnson, among "Set Poems," published at a mature age. The other pieces of this volume, which are trifles, and not very pleasing ones, we shall pass over in silence. On the whole we may observe, that the poetic talents of Mr. M. are more adapted to delight the fancy, than to touch the heart; on which account he will do well to employ himself on the splendid and novel topics afforded by Asiatic literature, rather than on domes tic subjects of deeper interest, which require pathos, simplicity, nature-the heart as well as the head of a poet. Ah, flowers! which Joy from Eden stole Absence, a farewell Ode. The political sentiment of the following sonnet is now obsolete, but the ani mated simile by which it is ushered in, is worthy of a longer date. "As when far off the warbled strains are heard ART. IX. Poems, by S. T. COLERIDGE. Third Edition. 12mo. pp. 202. THE character of Mr. Coleridge, as a poet, is so well known, and his merit so fully acknowledged, that nothing more can be expected of us on announcing the third edition of his poems, than a few remarks suggested by comparison with the last. The diminished bulk of the volume, caused by the omission of the works of Messrs. Lloyd and Lamb, instantly excited our warmest approbation, particularly as we were inclined to consider it as an evidence of the ripened taste and improved discernment of our author. In his own productions we remarked a few highly judicious alterations, with some others which we could not equally approve on the whole we must suggest, that he has still to learn" the art to blot." He omits scarce any thing, and so far from sinking, his juvenile productions appear to rise in his esteem; several of these, which in the last edition were thrown into a supplement, with a kind of confession of their inferiority, now boldly thrust themselves into the body of the volume, without apology and without abbreviation. The pieces now first offered to the public are few and short, but such as afford examples of the best and worst manner of this striking and peculiar writer. Novel and picturesque personification, sometimes almost expanding into allegory, forms perhaps the most prominent and most beautiful feature of the highly figurative style of Mr. Coleridge, but never did he display this characteristic with more exquisite grace than in the following lines: "Ah, fair delights! that o'er my soul On Mem'ry's wing, like shadows, By! Life's better sun from that long wintry night, For lo! the morning struggles into day, Some other political sonnets, which are far from possessing equal poetical me rit, and are disgraced by much coarse vehemence of thought and expression, surely ought not now to have been brought forward for the first time. In the complaint of Ninathoma, and another metrical imitation of Ossian, we cannot discern the slightest trace of Mr. Coleridge's hand, though we clearly recognise that of a correct and cultivated poet; these proofs of versatility of talent are pleasing, and show that it is perfectly at the option of this favoured genius, to dance along the fairy paths of elegance, or soar into the loftiest regions of sublimity. ART. X. The Defence of Order; a Poem. By JoSIAH WALKER, A. M. 8vo. pp. 176. MR. Walker is unhappy in the choice of his subject: more knowledge and more power of thought than he possesses are requisite to render didactic poetry tolerable. Where he digresses into narrative he is far more successful. The following passage is well executed for its style of composition. "Alas! how fair the dawn to thousands rose, Who ne'er again their eyes in sleep should close! Ere midnight's watch, with foul explosion driven, In mangled atoms, round the burning heaven! "In fancied safety, lies the Gallic host, Moored on the margin of the shelvy coast; But see, amazed, the British line appear, hoot round their flank, and dare their faithless rear; With dreadful flexure, to a crescent bend; lown half their length its clasping hornз extend; ill closer, closer yet, the fierce embrace, With fiery pressure, melts them from the place. Thus, eastern monarchs, round the savage lair, Like Time's last groan, each pulseless heart appal, And stilly darkness drops her veil o'er all. queen, A hope forlorn on Egypt's plains were seen. Nelson retires, to seek severer toil, Whose jaws, beset with fangs of fire, distend. steep, The surfy strand their red artillery sweep. There couching pards, and lamp-eyed tigers And, should a bolt, which skilful glances glare, ight up a circle of nocturnal fire, idnigher yet the curve contracts, and nigher; ill, struck with dread, the hollow-growling throes, ships with ships, in grappling fury, close; iton and Frank, in mad disorder, joined, it meeting bolt, and mast with mast entwined! glassy deep reflects the fiery air, distant Pharos reddens in the glare; 1. c looks on, with blank astonished eyes, ,here withdrawn, her fortune Europe tries; Till, bursting vast, a dread volcanic crash, ad, coating night's black vault, a sulphurous flash, ART. XI. The Inquiry. THIS well-meant poem is decent but il. It requires no common talents to ader metaphysical argument tolerable verse; with what success this author attempted it a brief extract will suf. e to show, guide, Crush some ill-fated consort by their side, Not fear, but rage, the thickening stroke im. pels, tear, And louder still, the doubling chorus swells. pace, Till quickening, kindling, glows the rapid race; And up the cliff, with more than mortal might, They pant, they press, and seize the hostile height; Hostile no more, for every foe is fled, In rout and tumult, o'er the valley spread." Part I. 12mo. pp. 44. "Strange world of good, replete with ev'ry evil, Pain, death, want, woe, damnation, and the |