And now the dark-brow'd ruler of the dead, Through shades, and winding caverns of the earth, Urges his fiery steeds-their cruel hoofs o'er and the principles of good taste in all its branches. The most original passage in the Rape of Proserpine, is the appearance of the daughter to her mother in a dream; it is well managed, and does credit also to the powers of the trans His monstrous limbs. The tortured giant lator. writhes His wounded bulk in vain; bearing at once The island, and the god; in vain he strives To change his posture, and with feeble force Escape those burning wheels; the smoking car Rides on his back. But as from some dark mine, In secret dug beneath embattled walls, Leaps out upon the pale astonish'd foe; The Cyclops dropp'd th' unfinish'd bolt of He heard who dwelt upon the frozen Alps, And he who on the Tyber sail'd; not yet With Roman trophies graced; and he who steer'd His swift-oar'd bark along the silver Po. At length, no more mysteriously veil'd, In Enna's flow'ry and enchanting vale, "This spectre horrible? from whom proceeds "O parent!" mournfully the shade replied, "Hast thou become oblivious of my fate, "Neglectful of my wrongs? quenching that love "With most unnatural hate, which Nature gives "E'en to the lion's dam! Ah me! so soon, "Thy only offspring, to be thus despised! "Sweet to thine ear was once my fav'rite name, "Now see thy Proserpine in this deep gulf Enchain'd, and with unceasing grief oppress'd! The purposes of the Poets were different; and different too were their delights in the branches of their art: Họmer's object was to celebrate Ceres: and he delighted in simple strokes,_but powerful Clandian intended an Epic," and he delighted in descriptive magnificence, aud diction. Did not each also comply with the taste of his age? If it was in the days of Homer somewhat rude and barbarous, it was also consistent with simplicity, and favourable to grandeur in the days of the Greco-Roman Emperors, over refinement had supplanted the genuine feelings of poetry, "Thy heedless hours, meanwhile, rude choir engage, "Mad revelry; e'en now the cities ring "Responsive to thy songs. But if thy soul "Reject not utterly a mother's care; "If, Ceres, I derive from thee my life, "And was not nursed by tigers,-O relieve "My wearied nature from this dreadful gloom, "And bring me back to light: or, if the Fates "In these lone caves!". -Tears ended her address; Him Fortune curses not with various life, Free from the merchant's toil, the soldier's strife; Heedless of busy Rumor's mad reports, Her trembling hands she now essay'd to raise, Far from the tedious din of wrangling courts, In lowly supplication; but her bouds Made vain the effort; and the rattling chains Waked Ceres from her sleep, with horror chill'd, 'Twas but th' unreal action of a dream, And some relief she feels; yet still she longs For Proserpine's embrace The Poem is unfinished: or the continuation is lost; but, all agree that the Goddess sought her daughter with the utmost anxiety, and grief, though her wanderings conferred eventually many blessings on mankind. Mr Strutt's reasons for preferring blank verse in translating this poem, must be read in his modest and sensible preface. He wishes that the stream of Poetry, were turned into these neglected channels of literature." We doubt the propriety of this wish: we are confident, that no modern is equal to the delicate management of those minute touches, and allusions, which impart an indescribable charm to poetry. There is at this time, a Greek poem far advanced, in which Jupiter, Venus, Neptune, &c. are interested in the fate of Diomedes : but, though these deities do nothing out of character, yet the reader easily discerns, that the performance did not originate while those powers were objects of worship. Not to dismiss this promising poet, whose ear in our judgment has considerable delicacy, to which he adds selection and command of language, without a specimen of his versification in rhyme ; we add one of the shorter poems. THE OLD MAN OF VERONA. How blest is he whose life's unvaried scene, Delighting in the pure and boundless skies Not by new consulships he marks the year, To him the sun metes out the quiet day, Full many a year hath silver'd o'er his brow, Mr. S. has lately engaged in a more extensive and laborious undertaking; in which we heartily wish him success. Ossian's Fingal ; an ancient Epic Poem, in Six Books, rendered into English Verse, by G. Harvey. 8vo. price 10s. Cadell and Davies, London. 1814. "From battle, and murder, and sudden death"-but, none with whom Ossian is a favourite, can finish the prayer: His main song is of battle; his episodes are of murder; and sudden death is the conclusion of most of them. The manners in his poems are those of a rude age, and a rough people: nevertheless, as manners they are interesting. The machinery he employs is that of a mountainous region, beheld with the eye of habituated superstition. It is possible, and but possible, that a mountaineer might have translated into English verse some of the poems ascribed to choice: but the tripping metre does not harmonize with the catastrophe that is sure to end the story; the cadence does not, by means of the ear, warn the mind to await the horror of the conclusion. Ossian, with considerable effect; but, in song measures. If the subjects of these the very last place should we have tales had been mirthful, or even cheerthought of an inhabitant of the metro-ful, we should have commended the polis for that purpose, or of a resident in the county of Essex. Mr. Hogg, the Ettrick bard and shepherd, might have attained a force adequate to the purpose, and might have understood his subject; but the superstitions of Essex are as different from those of the Heroes of Ossian, as the face of the country is from the Highlands of Scot land. His Mr. Harvey, in spite of his utmost endeavours, and of considerable talents, labours under this disadvantage throughcut the whole of his performance. versification is too mild, too equable; it might describe a shower, but it fails under a storm; it undulates well enough with a gentle breeze, but the boisterous fury of a raging highland torrent of air, demands more vigorous, and even fierce expression. Whether Ossian be worthy such exertion, considering that we have his works already in a species of poetic prose, may demand much argument, to evince: but if any writer undertake the task at his leisure moments, or combine his amusement with that employment," the labour we delight in physicks pain." Let our readers judge on this by an example. Say, lovely, fair Daughter of Cormac Cairbar, 'In the cave of the rock, why alone? 'The stream hoarsely murm'ring is heard from afar, And the winds through the aged trees groan. Yon lake, whose broad surface was once bright and clear, Now is rough and disturbed by the blast; 'Above thee, the clouds thick and heavy ap pear, ' And with darkness the sky is o'ercast. But thou like the snow on the heath dost appear, 'So unsullied, and pure, dost thou seem; 'Like the mist when it curls on the rocks is thy hair, 'As it shines in the sun's setting beam. 'Thy bosom in smoothness may certainly vie, With the rocks seen from Brano's clear stream, In the halls of great Fingal the pillars so high, 'Not more white than thy arms can 1 deem,' 'But come, Morna, come and withdraw this sad 'Which so cold in my bosom I feel.' Mr. H. was led to this undertaking from perusing the recommendation by the Edinburgh Reviewers, of a subject from Ossian, or in the manner of Ossian, to Mr. Walter Scott, a gentleman, well versed in Caledonian antiquity, and familiar with every hero of the Fingalian age, with his pedigree, his exploits, and the monuments still remaining to attest the truth,-and who dare doubt the truth? of his wonderful accomplish-She ments and achievements. Yet, we believe, Mr. Scott has hitherto found it convenient to decline the invitation of the Edinburgh Reviewer; and in this he has, no doubt, consulted his better judgment. Mr. H. is animated by superior prowess; and having made the attempt for his amusement, he has completed it for his own gratification, and that of the public. The narrative part of the poem he has written in long verses for the Episodes, being chiefly tales told by the Bards, he has preferred But pierced her white side with his steel. As welt'ring and dying she lay on the ground, The blood gushed in a stream from her side; The Cave's mournful echoes prolonged the sad sound Of her groans till the fair Maiden died.— Under this choice of metre, no great effect could be produced: it is devoid of melancholy: it is not gloomy: it is not murderous. The car of Cuchullin is a famous spear.. 'Bright as a flame appears his flowing hair, piece of descriptive poetry; and ap-When with a forward stoop he wields his pears to have been highly wrought by the original poet, who supposed it to be the first vehicle of the kind ever seen in the country. Mr. H. has rendered it in the following verses. · Rise, Ocean's Son! Rise, Chief of Shields, I pray! 'Like mountain stream the battle comes this way. Cuchullin's War-Car, like the flame of death, < The car is drawn.-The one upon the right, Fly, King of Ocean! fly, nor longer stay, 'Like a dread storm the Hero takes his way' This is not an unfavourable specimen of the translator's versification. Not the least remarkable conception of the author, is that of Cormac's successful contest with a Spirit. It has afforded an opportunity of suggesting an ingenious idea in a note, which it may be convenient to place before the text, for the better understanding of the passage. Calmar's account of the spirit of the storm is certainly no despicable description of a water-spout. A huge black cloud with a curling head, which he dexterously seizes and pierces with his sword. The appearance of these water-spouts is by no means uncommon at sea; it is a large black cloud of a conical shape, whose smaller end approaches nearer and nearer till it, appears to touch the surface of the Loud sounds his hoof, and prancing is his waves, producing a violent ebullition as it course, Bright is his color, and his spreading mane, Is like yon curling smoke upon the plain. "Sulin-Sifadda is the common name empties itself. The common method of dispersing these clouds is now, not by engaging them sword in hand, but by firing a cannon at them, the report of which produces such a concussion of the air, that By which he's known amongst the sons of the cloud is destroyed. fame. Before the car's left side, a dark maned-steed, Whom they Dusronnal call, in strengh and speed 'Sifadda's equal: high he holds his head, Strong is his hoof, majestic is his tread. Raised in the air, at distance from the ground, "By num'rous thongs upheld, the car is bound, 'Along the horses' necks which graceful bend, Studded with sparkling gems, the reins extend. Swiftly they fly across the streamy vales, As wreaths of mist impelled by stormy gales; 'Wild as the mountain deer, they take their way, And never Connal, chief of pointed steel! 'Never shall Calmar's bosom terror feel; My soul revives amidst dread war's alarms, 'In danger's hour, and at the noise of arms; 'I am of warlike race; to battle reared All my forefathers fought, and never feared. "Cormac, the first from whom my race began; 'Through stormy waves, a life of hazard ran; In his black skiff, o'er boisterous seas he passed, 'Borne on the light wings of the whistling blast. Once, when a spirit's dread embroiling might, 'Disturbed the calm serenity of night; 'High-swelling seas with loud tremendous sound, But strong as eagles, pouncing on their prey; With rushing noise across the plains theyBroke on the rocks, and sent hoarse echoes stride, Loud as the blast, on snow-topped Gormal's side. "The famed Cuchullin sits within the car, A mighty swordsman, long inured to war; "His cheek is ruddy as my polished bow, His blue eyes roll beneath his arching brow, round, 'On wings of fire did vivid lightning fly, 'Aud stormy clouds drove swiftly o'er the sky. 'Three sturdy youths the bounding vessel Weep not for them; but give to me thy tears, guide 'O'er the rough surface of the foaming tide. 'With sword unsheathed the hero took his stand, For I am sad, forlorn, and blind with years! And when the vapour passed, he raised his ners of this poem as highland, yet the hand, 'Adroitly seized it by the curling head, And pierced its body with his shining blade, 'The airy spirit forthwith took its flight, 'The stars returned, the moon renewed her light. 'Such was the courage that my sires possessed, 'And the like fire now glows in Calmar's breast,' There are few touches of nature more pleasing than those, when the bard suffers a glimpse of his own history to meet us unawares: how greatly should we have been gratified, if Homer had immortalized a few facts, respecting himself! Milton has recorded his own blindness; and Homer might be blind; but his own authority for that fact is wanting. Ossian was blind also; and with one of the most spirited passages of this version, including the bard's regret for his misfortune, we conclude this report. Oft hast thou seen, fair maid! the sun retire, Angry, and red, behind a cloud like fire; Approaching night o'ershades the mountains fast, Whilst through the valleys roars th' infrequent blast. At length in heavy showers the clouds descend, And pealing thunder seems the air to rend. sides. Such, fairest maiden of the snowy arms! Wherefore the tears that tremble in thine eyes? scene properly lies in Ireland; and the immediate subject of it is an invasion of a part of Ulster, by Swaran, king of Lochlin, (probably Jutland) who overcomes the Irish; but is overcome, in his turn, by Fingal, who arrives from Caledonia, with succours for his distressed friends. The allusions, however, in no case suit with a level country; hence the difficulty of doing justice to the original writer, when rendered into modern language We hope, if we meet Mr. Harvey again, it will be on a less mountainous subject. Rural Discourses, By William Clayton. 8vo. Price 10s. 6d. Saffron-Walden. for the Author. Hatchard. London. 1814. The great Author of our religion wisely taught by parables, drawn from ordinary occupations of life, or from operations of nature, constantly recurring. These were so simple, they could not be mistaken; so regular, that the auditory must needs be acquainted with them. They came home to every man's business and bosom; the truths incul cated by means of them, would fix themselves on the mind, and be recalled by the memory, years, perhaps, after the discourse itself had been attended to. Not at the first hearing would the full force of the sentiment be understood; and reflection, bearing an ample share in the result, would consider itself as having made a discovery, and congratulate itself, while It intermingled so much of its own, with what it had learned. This is human nature: such it was; and such it is. Discourses addressed to an auditory, on subjects such as they understand, such as they are daily interested in, reach the ear, and through the ear the heart, with great advantage: and this And their blue steel with crimson blood was appears to have been the writer's rea stained. son for addressing a series of discourses |