during the rainy season, when whole families are shut up in these close cottages; and every one who goes abroad must necessarily go with his pores in a condition expressly adapted to make him catch a cold or a fever.'

The Sultaun of Sennaar demanded peace, and the Turkish army entered his capital in order of battle, the prospect of a rich plunder promising a recompense for their toils: but, on a nearer approach, they found this once powerful city to be a heap of ruins, with several hundreds of uninhabited houses; it having, says the author in his peculiar style of eloquence, 'been for eighteen years the lacerated prey of war and confusion.'

We have now extracted from this narrative nearly all the little information which it comprizes: but we should not have devoted so large a space to such a production, if the novelty of the subject did not in some degree compensate for the faults of its execution. With regard, however, to geographical science, the book is perfectly useless: not a bearing is marked, not a distance defined, not an astronomical observation made; and the author has the rare merit of having traversed distant and unknown countries, without having contributed a single remark or adduced a single fact that can tend towards the elucidation of them.

ART. V. The Universe; a Poem.

8vo. 7s. 6d. Boards.

By the Rev. C. R. Maturin.
Colburn. 1821.

WE E have too long neglected The Universe.' A part of such a subject might have been excusably postponed: but that the whole should be laid on the shelf, for so many months, must reflect some discredit on our powers of attention. We crave pardon of The Universe,' and of Mr. Maturin.

From a poem like this, "de omnibus rebus et quibusdam aliis," it is very difficult to select passages that shall be at once popular, and such as will convey a just idea of the merits of the entire work. Yet the attainment of this combined object should be the earnest and diligent endeavor of all critics, of poetic or prosaic employment; as their double duty, to their author and to the public, can by no other means be satisfactorily discharged. Impressed with this feeling, how shall we conduct our review of The Universe?" We are most seriously anxious to do justice to the poet; who, as we have honestly observed in a former article, seems to us to have had hard measure dealt out to him in the most important

matters

matters which can belong to man : — but our paramount duty still operates, and for ever must operate on us. We shall

escape

from the dilemma by our old but candid resource, of throwing ourselves and the author on the united mercy and justice of our readers. We shall let Mr. Maturin speak for himself; and if there be any thing in the poem which can recommend him to the public, we shall be more than usually happy to have contributed to so desirable a result.

The beginning, the middle, and the end, shall be our fair and orthodox clues to the merits of the work.

Nature ethereal essence, fire divine,

Pure origin of all that earth has fair,

Or ocean, wonderful,

thou

or sky, sublime!
Thou when the Eternal Spirit o'er the abyss
Of ancient waters, moving, through the void
Spoke, and the light began!-thou also wast
And when the first born break of glorious day
Rejoic'd upon the youthful mountains,
Cam'st from it's God, the world's attempering soul!
From thee, the universal womb conceived
It's embryon forms, and teemingly arrayed
All earth with loveliness and life the things
That draw the vital air or brightly głow-
The animate, or silent beautiful,
High spreading glories of the wilderness,
That lift their blossomy boughs in summer air,
From Araby to Ind; flinging sweet dews
Upon their fugitive twilight:-or the trees,
And flow'rets of the vernal tempered zone,
Brief pensioners of Spring, that deck earth's wilds.
Bestrew'd with all diversities of light, -

Seen in the rainbow when it's coloured arch
Hangs glitt'ring on the humid air, and drives
The congregated vapours. So array'd
In manifold radiance, earth's primeval spring
Walk'd on the bright'ning orb, lit by the hours
And young exulting elements, undefil'd, -
And circling, free from tempest, round her calm
Perennial brow, the dewy zephyrs, then,

From flower-zon'd mountains, wav'd their odorous wings
Over the young sweet vallies, whispering joy-

Then goodliest beam'd the unpolluted — bright

Divine similitude of thoughtful man,

Serene above all creatures - breathing soul
Fairest where all was fair, — pure sanctuary

Of those sweet thoughts, that with life's earliest breath,
Up through the temperate air of Eden rose

To Heav'n's gate, thrilling love! Then, Nature, then
Thy Maker looked upon his work and smiled -
Seeing that it was good.'

Our

Our intermediate selection shall be made at page 54.

'Ye too, bright streams

That, by the lands of Cush and Havilah,
Went shining over Eden, till ye met

The gulf of pearly Ormuz-on whose banks,
The earliest and the loveliest garden grew,
That ever brightened earth!-again shall ye
The same sweet concert once ye made, renew
Through blessed shades again! - For Eden's bowers,
As in that prime of springs, shall wave profuse
Their verdurous glory far o'er wilds, where yet
Are intervening deserts, and the waste

Of bare and solitary sands, where now
All nature has abandoned; (save that speck
Of insulated verdure seen afar,

After the heart-sick toil of many days,

Which having gained, the traveller weeps for joy!)
There shall new fountains, from their silvery urns
Well forth their soft and wandering melody,
Through the rich wreaths of many a tufted height,
(As olive-crested Carmel fair, and sweet
As rosy Sharon,) and, meandering down,
Water each bushy wilderness, with flowers
Thick scattered like earth's dust! where jessamine
Stars its dark foliage, deeply intertwined
With wreaths of many a leaf and many a gem
Of flowery ray; whate'er from eastern trees
Of other creeping odours, hangs profuse,
Like robes upon their wavy arms sublime,
Down drooping to the balmy earth-flower's bed,
Where tulip-lily-or the purple bell
Of Persian windflower, grow; or farther seen
The gaudy orient sun-flower from the crowd
Uplifts its golden circle; - above all
Dark cypress and the growth of Lebanon
Whispering, meanwhile, with airy heads aloft,
Hold converse with the breezes, or avert,
With spreading screen, the high solstitial noon
From habitations, or from travelling groups
On voyages of wisdom or of love;
Fortunate pilgrims! bearing richer gifts
Than those bright caravans of old that bore
Their gorgeous treasures to the Jewish king,
From Ophir or Sabea; now at noon

Reposing on their course, and through the shade
In innocent delectation, wearing down
The hot meridian, till their willing way,
With fragrance and fresh vigor, urge them forth,
Joyful, through many a varying lightsome realm,
From clime to sunny clime!'

The

The concluding proof of Mr. Maturin's poetical powers may be found at page 95.

'Onward he moves
Calmly contemplative along the vale
Of quiet rural life, 'mid sights and sound,
Of pastoral nature, where all things around
Attest a dread protector ever near

To watch his path! and calmly to the end
Looks hopeful:- while reflected from past years
Sweet melancholy beams her pensive light
Around the native scene, thro' which he roves,
Where the same meadow-land that erst threw up,
Around his youthful footsteps, pleasant flowers,
And with its bloomy stillness hailed him back
From the loud world, still blossoms round his feet
With all its recollections of old times!
For not a tree of earlier growth stands there
But wears the aspect of a long known friend!
And not one winding of that rustic glen
Among those ancient hills, but tells its tale,
And wakes a smile, a tear, or passing sigh
All sweet!
That sadly thinks upon departed joy,

They come not from the blighted heart

And weeps or smiles in bitterness: they come
Soft, like the friendships, pleasures, hours of joy
Whose memory calls them back; even as the light
Of evening sunshine, looks with ray serene
Upon the flowers of morn, and as they fling
Their balmy essence on the dews of even,
Giving the tranquil heav'n of closing day
A breath of pleasantness before unknown!
So falls the light of memory round the hearts
Of aged virtuous men, old joys shine back
Over the gulph of time, freed from their glare
And foul discolouring specks: and early friends,
(Whose virtues only are remembered then,)
Rise hallowed from their rest, and o'er the page
Of love and memory's graven tablet shine
Like beautiful pictures drawn from things in heav'n,
Too fair for aught beneath."

It is impossible that any heart should fail to recognize in the above an ample feeling of virtue; many tastes will be satisfied'; and no mind can be injured. With this sincere panegyric we say adieu to the author; recommending conciseness, and a less capacious choice of subject, in his next attemp "Unus Pellæo juveni non sufficit orbis"

is no compliment, though an exaggerated statement; but what should we be forced to think of that literary ambition, which would not be contented with one • Universe?'

ART.

ART. VI. Catiline: a Tragedy, in Five Acts. With other Poems. By the Rev. George Croly, A. M. 8vo. 8s. 6d. Boards. Hurst and Co. 1822.

TH

HERE is a species of noisy subaltern genius, which in a regiment may raise a storm in such a slop-basin as the Isle of Man; or in the corps dramatique may excite for a moment, certainly not for a season, the admiration of a few ill-judging acquaintances. Of such a character, according to our judgment, the work before us decidedly appears. Whether Catiline was a well-chosen subject by any of those antient bards, foreign or domestic, who have adopted it, we shall not at present inquire: but it is clear that in the present day the Roman conspirator must have many charms for the poetical reader. He was daring, profligate, and mysterious, violent hater of all that was good and great around him, — and the acknowleged head of a band of accomplished banditti. Women, no doubt, loved him, with the usual degree and firmness of affection that are likely to be bestowed on such a personage. He was a patrician, and a gambler ; —a sensualist, and a brave soldier. What else can be required, but pallor of countenance and curliness of hair, (both of which qualities this abandoned Roman no doubt most eminently. possessed,) to complete a modern hero?

a

Mr. Croly, therefore, has judiciously chosen his subject; and he labors hard in his preface to invalidate the testimony of Sallust, and to represent his hero as a much injured man, as far as that historian is concerned. He seems to view the whole event nearly in the same light in which Napoleon Bonaparte considered it; as a faction of the nobles, damned to perpetual infamy because unsuccessful; i. e.

" Ille crucem sceleris pretium tulit, hic diadema."

We have not leisure, nor space, to enter into the argument: but we may be allowed to observe that an author of the year 1822 should have strong proofs to adduce in justificatión of that presumption, (we can call it nothing else,) which leads him to speak of Sallust's account of the personal ap-. pearance of Catiline, of the celebrated "citus modò, modò tardus incessus," &c., in terms like the following: The pantomime is coarse and improbable' !! (Preface, p. x. note.) — We are sorry to be compelled to add, that such a designation seems to us not unhappily to characterize the tragedy before Of this fact, however, we shall amply enable our readers

us.

* An expression of the great Lord Thurlow. How apposite is this idea to numerous effusions of the day!

to