exciting our sympathies for his characters. It is not the forced and artificial human nature of insulated and unparalleled circumstances that can engage our attention and our sympathies. "The proper study of mankind is man." But neither history nor nature admits the possibility of one solitary instance of a Sardanapalus or a Myrrha. The sensualist never thinks of others, but as either contributing or retarding his favourite gratifications. The bravest, most generous, most magnanimous, of men, have occasionally surrendered themselves to the entire dominion of sensual enjoy ment; but they are not, therefore, to be styled sensualists, more than men who bathe occasionally in the sea are to be called fishes. But the sensualist is incapable of one start of humane sympathy, one impulse of generosity, one act of magnanimity. Otho was gay, profuse, and passionately dissipated in his youth; but it seems probable that he was the victim of Nero's friendship, and Poppaa's artifices. When removed from their society, his natural temper may be supposed to have prevailed. Provincia Lusitaniæ præficitur. Ubi usque ad civilia arma, non ex priore infamia, sed integre sancteque egit, procax otii, et potestatis temperantior. Disappointment of his natural and reasonable ambition to be chosen the associate and successor of the old and unpopular Galba, stimulated him to lend himself to the sanguinary massacres which opened him a clear course to empire. His march from Rome, to meet the army of Vitellius, was worthy of a warrior. Nec illi segne aut corruptum luxu iter. sed lorica ferrea usus, et ante signa pedester, horridus, incomtus, famæque dissimilis. He was ruined by evil counsellors. With the precipitation of ignorance, Titianus and Proculus put all to instant peril against the sage counsels of Suetonius Paulinus and Marius Celsus. The same pernicious advisers dissuaded the emperor from taking part personally in the action. When the disastrous result was known, Otho, probably stung by remorse for his fatal compliance with evil counsels, and averse to prolonged bloodshed, withdrew from mortal conflicts, but unaccompanied by a female slave. He was a nice, particular, good-looking, finical coxcomb-but a Roman. He loved ease and a smooth skin; disliked bloodshed, as an unmannerly sort of thing, rather than as a source of distress and misery to others; and valued life only as a gentlemanly amusement. So much for the character which my Lord has so absurdly caricatured. Not less unreal is his character of Myrrha. An accomplished, passionate, spirited courtezan, may undoubtedly brave death in defence of her paramour, but she will fondly and sweetly mount the funeral pile, solely because she cannot survive him, or for the sake of letting their ashes embrace--she will do this only in the fictions of Lord Byron, whose mistresses are all fidelity, and whose unfaithful married ladies are most fondly attached to their adulterers. We prefer the touches of a different sort of limner. Famœ nunquam pepercit, maritos et adulteros non distinguens: neque affectui suo, aut alieno obnoxia. 66 The Foscari was written, we presume, for the sake of one expression, Rome of the Ocean ;" and that expression was written for the sake of a long note against all his assailants. It is true, that this soi-disant tragedy occupies a respectable part of the volume; and true it is, that the prose history of the transaction fills up twenty pages in the appendix. By this means his Lordship ekes out a volume; and, moreover, creates a title for modestly comparing his Don Juan to Tasso's Jerusalem! "Whilst I have been occupied in defending Pope's character, the lower orders of Grub-street appear to have been assailing mine: this is as it should be, both in them and in me." This is a very laudable spirit of martyrdom. Dr Beattie congratulated himself in similar terms, on his martyrological afflictions, in defending the church against dangers which he had not understood, and by weapons which he could not use. We once saw a conceited, but not unchivalrous manikin, attempting to carry a huge housekeeper across a stream. He tottered, waddled, and fell flat on his face. The lady was not drown ed, and he was only thoroughly washed. His Lordship alludes but to one nameless epistle, which is said to contain such senseless charges, that it really seems to have been written by some crazy admirer of his Lordship, by way of showing that the splendour of his writings leaves no resource to his enemies but to invent the most wild and contemptible calumnies. His Lordship denies that he wrote the notes to "Queen Mab," and pronounces the poem "a work of great power and imagination." With this we have no quarThere is then a fierce and furious attack upon Mr Southey. Why is this honest, but inconsistent visionary, so bitterly hated by Lord Byron? The first attack was by his Lordship, who versified thus: rel. Mr Southey undoubtedly believes that the French revolution was produced by irreverent writings. We question not the sincerity of his faith, though it may not, perhaps, be exactly adapted to evidence. We are disposed to agree with Lord Byron, that acts, on the part of the government, produced the revolution; and we think, that writings, seditious or blasphemous, are chiefly dangerous, by provoking a weak and jealous government to use harsh, unpopular, and irritative means of counteracting their ideal effects. But no writings ever excited any government so violently as Mr Southey's have excited Lord Byron. His Lordship plies the hatchet without trial, moderation, or mercy. Cain is called the greatest effort of Lord Byron's brain, probably because it might, could, would, or should be so. It is a most repulsive poem; full of unnatural incidents, perverse and unkindly feelings, metaphysical disquisitions, as unphilosophical as they are unscriptural and offensive. If there be any poetry in the piece to atone for such deformities, we have not found it. Call you this poetry dramatic or mysterious? Adam. Son Cain, my first-born, Cain. To pray. Cain. 'Tis better I should be so. Adam. Dost thou not live? No. Must I not die? This appears to us as ungracious in poetry as in morals. It is a disgusting exhibition of vulgar insolence in a son towards his parent, which would, in any station of life, demand the promptest chastisement. The following soliloquy of his Lordship's hero is perverse and unnatural, without the merit of being either original or striking. Cain. (solus.) And this is * Quid rides ? mutato nomine, de te Life! Toil! and wherefore should I toil? fabula narratur. Since the above was written, we have seen Mr Southey's reply to the charge brought against him by Lord Byron. It first appeared in an evening paper. The Laureate's Letter is smart, twitching, and, in one place, exceedingly eloquent. Lord Byron should not provoke such bitter re torts. We wonder much what answer his Lordship will give to the circumstance of his name (together with those of some others) being inscribed in an Album, with an appended avowal of Atheism, in Greck. because My father could not keep his place in l'judge but by the frufts-and they are bitter Which I must feed on for a fault not mine. Lucifer presents himself to this profound reasoner, and then follows a dialogue infinitely unworthy of the first Rebel in heaven, and the first Murderer on earth. If the noble author had read Milton since the age of twenty, he would never have attempted, or at least never published such a tissue of ignorance and vanity, of pretension and contradiction. Cain, ignorant of his immortality, says, I live, But live to die: and living, see nothing To make death hateful, save an innate clinging, A loathsome and yet all invincible This, in our apprehension, is sheer nonsense. The clinging to life is the love of life. If the evils of life become so great as to make it hateful, death presents itself at once to the mind as a consummation devout ly to be wished. Shakespeare knew human nature much better than Lord Byron : But that the dread of something after death An old Roman never hesitated to quit life when it became hateful. The clinging to life, however varied or modified, was always felt and considered by them a love of something in life. Transisse vitam neque aliud quam morte decus quærendum was always ground sufficient for "hugging death as a bride." A poet, who him self shewed a disgraceful clinging to a loathsome life, sings rightly, -longa (canitis si cognita) vitæ Mors media est. Certe populi, quos des. picit Arctos, Felices errore suo, quos, ille timorum And I will weep for thee. That's a good child, now. Eat your bread and butter, and I'll give you a kiss. Lucifer leads Cain away bodily into the abyss of space, and leaves Adah exclaiming, "Cain, my brother! Cain!" This is a very gross and senseless piece of machinery. Carry the human body, such as we know it, through infinite space, and you extinguish all sublimity of emotion, as much as when you sing of a man tossed in a blanket. Flesh and bones must have standing ground. If poetry be permitted to convey us through mid air, it is quite indispensable to let us bait in the moon, or any other favourite planet of the poet's. Yet this machinery, clumsy as it is, is not original; for Mr Hogg, in his "Pilgrims of the Sun," sets his Mary Lee a swinging through "the abyss of space." The poem is dedicated to his Lordship, and, therefore, if he is not indebted to it, he ought to be. For the Ettrick Shepherd, it must be admitted, that, besides the merit of originality, he has also the merit of selecting a lady. Now this class of corporeal beings are not only styled angels, but they really possess so much spirit, and such slender shapes--so much fantasy, airiness, peak, Was traced a line of lightning. The rival of the Andes, whose dark Lowered o'er the silver sea. Far, far below the chariot's path, Calm as a slumbering babe, This is indeed musical as is Apollo's lute; but once more let us contrast. The most celebrated passage in Cain is the following: Oh, thou beautiful Is this blue wilderness of interminable Is your course measured for you? Or do ye Intoxicated with eternity? Above, and all around, Let Lord Byron be assured, that it is not sufficient for him to praise poetry like this; he must imitate its Miltonic sublimity, its exquisite mellifluousness, and its elaborate accuracy. We strongly recommend to him to follow the example of an unsuccessful singer of blank verse, in other times. Ergo omni cura vires exercet, et inter Dura jacet pernox instrato saxa cubili. -ventosque lacessit Ictibus, et sparsa ad pugnam proludit arena. derer are thought, by the writer, clever, beyond all parallel or comparison, in ridiculing the goodness of God, and the devotions of men. The writer is mistaken. The most ignorant and the most vicious of mankind are capable of such sublime soarings, There is neither novelty, nor wit,nor spirit in them. Profaneness and obscenity have ever been the resources of shallow would-be wits. There is nothing easier than to shock modest and pious delicacy; but there is nothing more vulgar, or more cruel. If Lord Byron thinks himself original in these hackneyed walks, he ought to be. informed of his error. If he imagines that he has genius enough to rescue them from the contempt and disgust with which mankind have agreed to regard them, he ought to be told, that he knows not himself, and that he egregiously over-rates his own powers. With reference to the belief in the existence of God, and in his government of the world, we would recommend to Lord Byron's careful consideration Dean Swift's well-warranted sneer at the witlings who perpetually drivelled out their essays against Christianity: "If Christianity were once abolished, how could the free-thinkers, the strong reasoners, and the men of profound learning, be able to find another subject, so calculated, in all points, whereon to display their abifities? What wonderful productions of wit should we be deprived of from those whose genius, by continual practice, hath been wholly turned upon raillery and invective against religion, and would therefore never be able to shine, or distinguish themselves upon any other subject! It is the wise choise of a subject that alone adorns and distinguishes the writer." If Lord Byron is not provided with any system of theology which can sa→ tisfy his active mind, let him not molest the faith or the feelings of those who believe and rejoice. If he is not satisfied with his lot in marriage, let him not libel all married women. We can inform him, and we hope he will find it true ere long, that his misconduct in both these respects proceeds from an evil conscience. He hates theology and marriage from the same cause which prompted Domitian's hatred of Agricola. Proprium VOL. X. A philosopher may say with reason, that it is only the sectarian, or the proselytizer, who wrangles, cavils, abuses, and inveighs. We are far from sorry that the fine spirit of Lord Byron sleeps not securely in the lap of infidelity; we regard it rather as a hopeful symptom of future piety; and we only lament that his Lordship should rashly publish to the world those quibbling attacks upon religion, which all men of sense must despise, which all men of taste dislike, and which his Lordship may soon have the grace to reject as unworthy of his talents. Lord Byron has talents, and splendid talents; and we therefore lament exceedingly that they are abused, both by precipitancy of publication, and unworthiness of subject. Be it Tragedy, Mystery, or Pilgrimage, Lord Byron cannot fail to delight, by the very highest and tenderest poetry, if he only labour diligently for a due length of tine. The obscene effusions of an unguarded moment, would be expunged with indignation in a far shorter period than nine years. The currish latrations against saered things would not be endured, after the extravagant fondness of the first invention had subsided. Elegance of thought and language-the sweet and full tone of immortal verse the point-the felicity-the transporting harmony of the whole, would, at the same time, advance to completion under the sedulous anxiety of ambitious modesty. The verse in Cain, and indeed in the whole of the present volume, is almost as bad as possible. It has not one quality of classical blank verse. But we must now spare his Lordship, our readers, and our P |