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so, I do not know why this drama has not a most excellent moral. And after all the cant and slang that can be uttered, if people will read books, in which the devil is introduced, they must not, as the author himself says, expect to hear him talk like a clergyman. I do not, however, uphold the propriety of writing such books; and should be sorry to quote one or two passages from this, in which the Stranger speaks of some of the holiest mysteries of revelation, in a manner not a whit the less blasphemous, because it is appropriate to the character. It is therefore to be hoped, that many, even of those who are capable of relishing fine poetry, will not read this drama. The moral sense very soon becomes dull, by the familiarity of the mind with images and sentiments, at first strange and revolting. Jupiter cuts such a sorry figure in the Prometheus Vinctus, even though invested as yet with all the terrors of his power, that his worshippers, while they bowed in spirit to the towering grandeur and indomitable spirit of his victim, who was the benefactor of mankind, must have lost all respect, save that accompanying fear, for the father of Gods and men.' And Manfred, Cain, and the Deformed Transformed,' (the last is least exceptionable of the three,) are certainly calculated to shake our faith in the wisdorn and compassion of the Deity, and mislead our ideas as to the operations of divine providence in the moral government of the world.
For the sake of such persons of tender conscience, as may read this poem, I advise you to make some extracts, of parts not liable to censure. The phantoms that pass before Arnold, for his selection, the shadows of beauty, and shadows of power,' are designated with great felicity of expression. First appears the form of Julius.
The black eyed Roman, with
Arn. The phantom's baldStrang. His brow was girt with laurels more than hairs. Next rises the curled son of Clinias, the fairest and the bravest of Athenians;' who is soon followed by his preceptor, whose outward semblance does not, as may be supposed, prove very inviting to the Hunchback.
Arn. What! that low, swarthy, short-nosed, round-eyed satyr,
Remain that which I am. Strang. And yet he was
Arn. What's here? whose broad brow and whose curly beard
Demetrius Poliorcetes succeeds him, to gratify Arnold's desire to look on beauty.
Arn. Who is this?
Strang. The shame
The godlike son of the sea goddess,
The incantation, by virtue of which the soul of Arnold passes into a tangible form, moulded after the semblance of Achil. les, is exceedingly beautiful. But I pass to the second part. During the assault on the eternal city, conducted by the Bour
bon, 'a chorus of spirits in the air is introduced, chanting a song, for the spirit and energy of which we might seek in vain, in the efforts of any of Byron's reviewers. Take, for example, the first and last verses.
"Tis the morn, but dim and dark.
ye seven hills! awaken,
Yet once more, ye old Penates !
But be still the Roman's Rome! The third part, of which we have but three pages, opens with mountain scenery. Arnold, it should seem, is a bridegroom. A chorus of peasantry is introduced ; and we have presented to our mind's eye, at once, all the beauties of a picturesque country, with its associations, in the smiling season of the year, of life, and love, and freshness. All this, perhaps, like the short pause before the gates of Macbeth's castle, is intended but to throw into deeper shadow the dark events that are to follow, in scenes of stormy passion, treachery, and murder.
CHORUS OF PEASANTS.
The spring is come; the violet's gone,
But the hound bayeth loudly, Since Nimrod, the Founder
Of empire and chace,
And quake for their race.
When the Lion was young:
In the pride of his might,
Then 'twas sport for the strong With birds from their nest.
To embrace him in fight; Cosar.-Oh! shadow of glory! To go forth, with a pine [moth, Dim image of war!
For a spear, 'gainst the Mam-
At the foaming Behemoth;
As towers in our time,
And, like her, sublime! All this may be beneath Mr. Walsh's criticism, but it is, nevertheless, fine poetry.
I intended to have made some remarks on the Albigenses, and some half dozen other works, which I must postpone, now, to a more convenient season. My letter is already treble. Remember me to all inquiring friends, if any such there be.
(The following verses, addressed to a Lady,' were written by O. W.
Helme, who died of the fever in this City, in 1821.]
To weep o'er hopes departed
cans't be lonely,
JOHNSON AND LEE. *
Real or supposed injustice, to the character of the late Colonel Henry Lee, on the part of Judge Johnson, the biographer of General Greene, has produced from Mr. Lee, a son of the colonel, a critique, in the shape of an octavo, of more than five hundred pages. The work demands notice, as it is American, on a subject of great interest, and written with great spirit and ability. We regret, however, its publication, and that a conflict, like that which it is calculated to provoke, should be waged above the ashes of the illustrious dead. They have long ago fought their good fight, and have sunk into the grave,
*“ The campaign of 1781, in the Carolinas ; with remarks historical and critical on Johnson's life of Greene; to which is added an appendix of original documents relating to the history of the revolution. By H. Lee. Philadelphia. E. Littell."