trifle so either with himself or his readers. The person who objects to the use of a phrase, so perfectly understood on all hands, in order to preserve any appearance of consistency, should without all question become a Quaker at once. Indeed we cannot conceive upon what principle, he can overlook for a single moment, the horrible iniquity of addressing an indivinal by a plural pronoun-to say nothing of the gross idolatry implied in the use of such names as, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday-or the virtual lie told by the author's own bookseller, when he advertises, "Dr Chalmers's New Volume." It is a pity that such things should have been permitted to make their appearance, in pages of which they are so little worthy. But we have already said and quoted far more than enough, to shew that these are but the "pauca maculæ," by which no man of sense will permit himself to be discouraged from an attentive perusal of an original, philosophical, and most eloquent book. DALE'S POEMS.' We have seldom met with any productions calculated to give a more enaging idea of their author's character, than "the Widow of Nain," and "the Outlaw of Taurus;"-two poems which Live lately been published by Mr Dale, of Bene't College, Cambridge. The notions usually connected with the name of academical poetry, are such, that it is no wonder we threw these little volumes aside at first, without bestowing on them more than a very hasty glance. But if any of our readers have, from similar prejudices, been induced to treat Mr Dale with similar disrespect, we beg leave to assure them that the loss is their own. His poetry is in truth the very reverse of what is usually produced in colleges: His style, indeed, bears all the marks of that easy unlaboured elegance, which can only be acquired after very long and intimate acquaintance with the models of classical antiquity; but it is totally free from all the coldnesses of pedantic imitation; nd the spirit that animates its numbers, is no other than that of keen human feeling, exalted and adorned by the impressions of a piety as tender it is deep.-We regard what the athor has published as chiefly valuable on account of the promise it unfolds; but, even if he were never to publish another line, he has already done enough to secure for his name the admiration of 'affectionate rememtrance, among all that are worthy of reading poetry. He has touched with hand of so much gentle power, some of the finest strains of emotion that have place within the human breast, that none such can lay down his little volumes without feelings of the warmest personal kindliness towards the poet himself;-while the many, who like the woman of Nain, have wept over the sole props of their widowhood;-and the more who, like the Outlaw of Taurus, have known what it is to experience the horrors of remorse, and to shed the tears of repentance will engrave on their memories, almost without an effort, the beautiful lines that must equally surprise and delight them, with showing how surely the soul of genius can divine the deepest secrets of the troubled heart. The picture of the last death-bed scenes, in the house of Nain,-when the lonely woman watches-almost without one ray of hope-beside the patient victim of decay-is one that we are sure will justify all we have said. The spirit of her son to cheer, With hopes, she now had ceased to feel; From that dread stroke, which menaced near, A few short bitter days to steal : To soothe the languor of decay She strove all other cares were fled; And midnight's gloom, and morning's ray, Still found her watching by his bed, All love could do, or pain demand. To render, with unwearied hand, The very firmness of despair Had nerved her weaker heart to bear; Or never had that mother borne To see him die-and thus to die Untimely wasting, ere the morn The Widow of the City of Nain; and Other Poems. By Thomas Dale, of Bene't College, Cambridge. Third edition. London. J. M. Richardson, 1820. The Outlaw of Taurus, a poem; to which are added: Scenes from Sophocles. By Thomas Dale, of Bene't College, Cambridge. London. J. M. Richardson, 1820. Of youth had past unclouded by- Still watched with fond maternal care, And turn his pallid face away, For what can 'scape a mother's eye? She deemed in health she loved him more Which watched and wept for her distress:- From the low couch where he was laid. And dragged her thoughts to earth again. Her's was that bitterness of woe, Which sighs or tears can never reach, Which mocks the bounded powers of speech :A recklessness of all below Of all around-above-but oneThe dying youth she gazed upon. So looks the mariner on the wave, Which onward rolls his opening grave;On battle fields, with slaughter red, Where friend by friend has fought and bled, So looks the dying on the dead. Her hopes, her love, her earthly bliss, Her very soul was bound in his; And now the fatal hour was nigh, When all but life with him must die, And what-when he had ceased to be, Oh! what was life but misery ? A night with cheerless gloom o'ercast, A maddening memory of the past ;— The desert of the joyless breast, Death's apathy-without its rest. Mute, motionless, as if he slept, His head upon her breast reclined; And yet, though horror coldly crept Through every vein, she never wept, Calm and resolved, but not resigned. And all that she was now to feel. A moment, waked from that deep trance, A lambent ray, life's last endeavour He strove to speak-he gasped for breath- Was, "mother! dearest mother!" A smile was still upon his face, A placid calmness on his brow, Which Death itself could not erase; These might have soothed her once, but NOW Tis eve-the sun's departing beam Day, like a virgin, whose young bloom, It beams for all-yet only he, We cannot resist quoting one more exquisite passage from this beautiful version of one the most beautiful stories told in Holy Writ. We do so chiefly, (not solely) on account of the singular felicity of the description of our Saviour's personal appearance. "The mourner-speechless and amazed, Had smote him ere he reached his prime. And knows nor hope nor fear below; Oh! how shall mortal dare essay, And all that finite sense can deem Light-such as blest Isaiah's dream, The other poem is founded on a well known and most beautiful passage of Eusebius, which relates the ecclesiastical tradition concerning the events of St John the Apostle's visit to Ephesus, after he had been set free from the confinement of Patmos, in consequence of the death of Domitian, and the toleration extended to all the Christians Δια μέγεθος φυσίως εκςτας, ώσπερ άστομος Ενδάκων, μείζονως κατα των βαραθρών εφέρετο. VOL. VIII. by Nerva, on his succession to the throne. We believe there is no reason to doubt the accuracy of this tradition; but if invention it be, surely it is one of the most touching and beautiful of inventions. The Apostle, we are told, was one day engaged in a solemn ordination of ministers to serve in the church of Ephesus, when, looking round, his eye rested on, and was detained by the extraordinay loveliness and apparent innocence of the countenance of a certain youth who stood in the midst of the congregation. Turning to the bishop, on whom he had just laid his hands, he exclaimed, "In the presence of the church, and in the sight of Christ, I commit this The presbyter received the charge, and young man to your utmost diligence." in obedience to it, admitted the youth into his own family, where he was baptized, instructed, and reared up to manhood with all manner of kind and christian superintendence. In process of time, however, he becomes acquainted with a set of dissolute youths, who make it their whole business to exercise upon him every instrument of temptation-and, at last, he falls. One degree of vicious indulgence succeeds to another; until, at length, as the ecclesiastical historian has finally said, he, like a spirited and unbridled charger, galloping from the right path, and champing his reins, is hurried, by the very nobility of his soul, The more deeply into the abyss."* end of his wicked course is, that he retires to Mount Taurus, with a number of the wild young men who had corrupted him, and, being elected their captain on account of his superior bravery, holds the whole region in terror by the boldness of his depreda tions. A few years having elapsed, the old Apostle returns to Ephesus, and after transacting all public business of the church, turns suddenly round to the bishop, saying, "Now, O bishop, restore to me the deposit which Christ and I, in the sight of this people, committed to thy care." The bishop understands him not at first-but being asked in more explicit terms concerning the young man, rends his garments, and tells the story of his perversion, as it had happened. και Ευρωστος ίππος ὀρθης ὁδα, και τον χαλι The aged Apostle immediately in quired in what part of the mountain the young man lay with his band. Being provided with a guide, he penetrates the defiles of Taurus till he approaches the region infested by them. His guide then leaves himbut John advances, having determined to see the captain of the band. The old man is captured by some of the robbers, and is soon carried into the presence of their chief. We shall give the result in the words of Eusebius himself. "The leader, armed as he was, awaited his arrival. And when he recognized John advancing towards him, overpowered with hame, he betook himself to flight. But the apostle, forgetful of his age, eagerly pursued him, exclaiming, Wherefore do you fly from me, oh my son! from your father, aged and unarmed? Pity me, oh my child, and fear me not: you still possess a hope of salvation. I will make atonement for you to Christ. Willingly would I endure death on your behalf, even as the Lord died for me. I will give my own life as a ransom for you: stop, and believe: Christ hath sent me.' The youth hearing these words, at first stood still, with his eyes fixed upon the ground: next he threw off his arms, and, trembling, burst into a flood of tears. He then met the old man advancing, and with bitter sighs and lamentations implored his pardon, being, as it were, baptized a second time in his tears, only concealing his right hand. Then the apostle, pledging his faith, and swearing that he would obtain parden for him from his Redeemer, having fallen on his knees and prayed, kissed the right hand of the young man as if it had been purified by repentance, and led him back to the church. Having besought God on his behalf with many prayers, and striving together by frequent fastings, and soothing his soul by many scriptural exhortations, the apostle, as they say, did not depart till he had restored him to the church, having afforded a signal example of sincere penitence, an illustrious instance of regeneration, and a trophy of a conspicuous resurrection." Our readers will see at once what a fine field of poetical embellishment this narrative must have opened up to such a poet as Mr Dale; but in truth, here, as in the story of the widow of Nain, there is so much beauty in the simplicity of the original sketch, that we doubt, whether, after all, it was possible, that the effect should have been improved or strengthened by means of any poetical embellishment whatever, Much as we admire Mr D., we certainly can by no means compliment him on a judicious selection of subjects-but that is a matter of very inferior consideration in regard to a writer of his standing. It is enough for us, and will be enough for our readers, to see that Mr D. possesses the strong elements of poetical power; and no fear but he will hereafter know better how and on what subjects to employ them. To speak in the language with which he himself is most familiar, the was and the we are very subordinate affairs to the iri. We have already quoted so much from the "Widow of Nain," that we must keep within bounds as to "The Outlaw of Taurus;" and yet we know not well what passages to select, for the whole piece flows on in a very equable strain of elegant ardour. We shall give the description of St John himself, as he first appears in the temple of Diana in the midst of all the splendours of the heathen worship. And now the festive pomp proceeds Thin scattered locks of purest snow Wave o'er a wan and wasted brow, Hath changed to that meek placid love In Dian's praise the votive hymn- Were mourners o'er a hero's bier- His breast from earth's emotions free; Hath led him to contemn mankind; And lured him vainly to explore The mazes of th' Eternal Mind ;And learn-what nature taught beforeThat God is wise, and mortals blind. The vaunting sophist, weak as proud, May turn disdainful from the crowd, And smile in selfish scorn to see His pensive brow, and lowly mien ; And such he was! the tear that steals But know-though driven perchance to roam To meet the sneer of cold disdain— Thrice blessed is the Christian's lot! And hope to cheer his path is given, Till Peace, that flies a world unblest, This hath he borne, and still could bear'Tis not the impending stroke of Fate; A Christian knows no terrors there- We shall conclude with part of the energetic address of the same personage, at the close of this poem. It is to be understood, that the outlaw has already scaled his repentance, and re ceived, at the hands of the apostle, the most precious of its earthly rewards, in the shape of the heroine of the poem, by name, Irene. St John speaks— "But what are earth's vain fleeting charms Which waits-O favoured maid-for thee? I communed with the Holiest One, Mortal! from earth awake! arise! The glories of the latter day; And earth and skies shall pass away. One foot on earth, and one on sea, A mighty Angel towers to heaven; Beneath his tread the depths are riven→→→ Of the fierce sun's meridian ray, I swear by Him, whose sovereign sway, That time shall be no more.' |