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slumber on in our present state, without being roused by the rebukes of conscience, or the terrors of eternity.
“ Thus may the pure and holy system of Christian faith and Christian practice be contaminated in all its parts; and thus may individuals either neglect, or transgress, as occasion requires, almost every law, which the Son God has laid down. If such laxity of principle and conduct be once admitted, it is easy to perceive, that human frailty and corruption could not well claim a greater licence for the indulgence of sinful passions and pursuits."P. 43.
The foron prescribed for self-examination is exceedingly good, the notes upon the whole service, and the private prayers which follow are written in the spirit of calın and Christian devotion. The whole is sufficiently concise, without omitting any important considerations. We recommend this Manual strongly to all, particularly to the congregations which are composed of those who move in the higher circles of life, and are frequently ignorant of the true principles and tendency of the Christian religion; from which circumstance it too often happens that when they begin to think seriously of their unchristian state, they Ay for succour to the opposite extreme of fanaticism, and be come too easy a prey to the designing cant of the puritanical party. We trust that Mr. Hewlett's book will have the circulation which it deserves : in his own chapel, when preached in the form of Sermons, the effect of his exhortation was very powerful.
Art. X. Legend of Ionu, with other Poems. By IF ulter
12s. Edinburgh, Constable;
“ His harp, that erst had cheered his happier years,
THERE is a felicit
Till, when subdued with age's last decay,
His wondrous stories of the Hermit's Cell.” P. 200.
Cawthorn. 1814. afford pleasure: we call up with it a thousand recollections and anticipations, and l'ancy falls zealously to work to embody
“ Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream." Something, in fact, more agreeable to our own ideas of a ter• restrial paradise, than we imagine our Poet is about to present us with : as Cowley sweetly observes,
" Phansie, wild dame, with much lascivious pride,
Straight 'tis a field, and trees, and herbs appear." And on reading the Poem we found our first feelings correct, This “ Eden” may be to Mr. Reynolds a very delightful spot, all that in imagination even he could hope for, but to us it is but a dull, melancholy place, to which even the harmony and delicacy of his numbers cannot reconcile us : so much indeed do we question its congeniality with the feelings and habits of the world, that we doubt, after this specimen of his ability, if any of our flourishing gentlemen of the hammer would be inclined to çmploy him to furnish a descriptive advertisement of some “de
lightful cottage ornée, or one of their “ picturesque résidences,"
• Each summer cloud that slowly sails away,
Thus at some moment, when our joys are bright,
Casts a warm, mellow lustre O'er the heart."
From what we can collect from scattered notices, Mr. Ref. nolds is a very young man; of his ultimate success as a Poet, a great deal will depend on himself: he has many of the requisites of a fine one; but study, and true study, is absolutely necessary to excellence. Art and nature must be alike within the
of a Poet. In the course of reading therefore to which Mr. Reynolds must of necessity submit, we would earnestly recommend to him a higher school than the modern: in bis " Library” we regretted to find him speaking of Milton and Spencer in mere regular common place commendation; this is the consequence of a superficial knowledge of their extraordinary excelłence: we hope some day to find him diseriminating, and dwelling with enthusiasm on their beauties, not, as now, giving pages to modern Poéts, and clubbing these masters of the divine art into one line, and shuffling them off in another as if uneasy under their weight. We have some confidence that this will be the case from the spirit in which he selects, and the spirit with which he commends Mr. Wordsworth, and from that truth with which he himself seems capable of examining nature. Our readers will discover in the concluding extracts, with which we shall now present them, that he has something, congenial in feeling even witk that extraordinary Poet.
... P'll tread the mazes of the winding way,
Breathe o'er again the pleasures of the day,
or, to come more home, ,
There view the linnet, startled at the breeze,
Art. XII. An Ode. Martin. 1815.
we allowed our feelings as reviewers in the slightest degree to influence our judgment, we should of all men be the most certain enemies to the general dissemination of education; not that we could object to men merely being taught to read and write, but for the intimate connection which seems to exist bee tween writing and printing: the moment a young gentleman or ady can string together a few sentences, out they must come ; and we have of late years bad such an overflowing of these “ laborious effects of idleness,” that with nerves, from custom, something less tremblingly alive than they were wont, we cannot but confess we are sometimes terribly shaken at the sight of a new novel; and that a promised treat of hot pressed Fugitive Poetry, requires an extra cup of bark and port wine before we can venture to contend with it. An ode it is true is something less alarming; it shews an honest aim at something creditable, and is less likely to be made the channel of that mawkish sentiment, or the still more offensive ribaldry, which so frequently disgraces the publications we have alluded to. But anonymous poetry of any sort has nothing in it prepossessing to a reviewer.
We know not well how to describe the work before us. If the reader will call to his recollection the unsubstantial beings that pass before Bradamant, in the third book of Orlando Furioso, , the shadows that appear to Macbeth at the command of the witches; or indeed, and the resemblance H
is VOL. IV. JULY, 1815.
is closer, the visions that disturb the repose of Richard in the 5th act, he will have a tolerably clear idea of the groundwork of the Ode before us, which is the personification of the passions that might be supposed to have agitated the mind of Buonaparte * immediately after bis abdication passing in succession be. fore him ; and it is a melancholy evidence of the eventful period in which we live, that before onr poets can celebrate the delivera:xe of mankind from this dreadful scourge, he is again on the scene of action, and again abdicates his usurped dominion.
The prototype however of the present work is unquestionably Collins's exquisite Ode on the Passions; and though it is not borne up by that poetic enthusiasm which delights and astonishes us in the original, thete is sufficient feeling and passion to elevate it much above the commoti poetry of the day. It may somewhat startle the reader perlaps to find Lore among the number, alighting too on the broken sceptre of Buonaparte to cheer his solitude, and calm his agonized brain. That the man is capable of feeling a pure and disinterested affection we should not be easily convinced; nor is there a single anecdote in his life that will justify even. a poet's supposition. This description indeed, which, taken by itself, is devoid neither of elegance nor spirit, beconies absurd only by its application.
• To save the monarch, Anger now was maddening,
Soft music breath'd-an angel's sigh
Gay from above,
O'er flowers of Paradise
His ringlet cluster'd brow
On which the moonbeams rest;
And light as childhood's dream."
The author has managed with considerable address not to allude to his hero by name,