Montgomery and Dale, on the other, by employing their poetical genius upon subjects worthy of such writers, acquire a wreath of glory that shall not soon fade away.

We need say but little upon the character of Mr. Dale as a poet. No doubt most of our readers have read the " Widow of the City of Nain," and that too with profit and delight. The "Outlaw of Taurus" will do no discredit to the author of that work. It abounds in those forcible sketches which reach immediately to the heart of the reader; and if it does not rouse the more violent passions, and excite that eager sympathy, which the works of some poets are intended to produce, neither does it fill the mind with impure or painful ideas, which after the perusal of their poetry will still adhere to the imagination. It engages the attention in the most lively manner; and although it does not absorb the reader in an ocean of contending passions, neither does it leave behind any reflections that are painful to the gentle disposition, nor any images that are abhorrent to the pious mind,

The poem is grounded upon the following narration, from the Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius, which we have abridged from the author's translation. When, after the death of the tyrant Domitian, the apostle John had returned from the Isle of Patmos to Ephesus, at the solicitation of his brethren he undertook a tour through the provinces adjacent to that city. His objects in this journey were the ordination of bishops, the personal superintendence of the churches, and the separation of such persons as were indicated to him by the Spirit, to the exercise of the clerical office. On his arrival at a city not far from Ephesus, (the very name of which is mentioned by some writers,) after he had consoled the brethren by exhortations, he beheld among his audience a certain youth, whose commanding stature and engaging aspect bespoke a corresponding nobility of mind. Turning to the bishop he had just ordained, he exclaimed, In the presence of the church, and in the sight of Christ, I commit this youth to your utmost diligence." He having received the young man, and given the required promise, the apostle, solemnly reiterating this charge, returned to Ephesus. The youth, after having continued some time in the family of the bishop, fell again into the company of his former vicious associates, and by degrees recovering his old lusts, returned to his former practices; and at length became the leader of a powerful banditti.

In the course of time, John was once more summoned to the same city. Having arranged all the circumstances about

which he came, "Now," said he, "O bishop, restore me the deposit which Christ and I committed to your custody," in the presence of the church over which you preside." He at first stood mute with astonishment, imagining that money which he had never received was required of him through sóme calumny; he could neither believe that what had never been entrusted to his care was demanded from him, nor could he impeach the veracity of the apostle. But when he exclaimed, I demand the young man, even the soul of my brother," the old man, groaning deeply, and bursting into tears, replied, "He is dead."-" And in what manner did he die?"-" He is dead to God," replied the bishop: "he hath departed, being impious, and abandoned, and a desperate robber and he now occupies a mountain opposite the church, with his equally lawless associates."

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The apostle immediately procured a horse, rode to the mountain, and was seized by a guard of the robbers, who conveyed him to their chief; who," armed as he was, awaited his arrival, and when he recognized John advancing towards him, overpowered with shame, betook himself to flight. The apostle eagerly pursued, and, in short, once more restored him to the church of Christ, a signal instance of sincere penitence, an illustrious example of regeneration, and a trophy of a conspicuous resurrection." Upon this story, "The Outlaw of Taurus" is founded; though Mr. Dale has taken a poet's licence in adding a few circumstances. Opening the poem with an apostrophe to the famous Temple of Diana at Ephesus, he introduces the apostle John, as being present at a gorgeous ceremony in honour of the "brighteyed Dian."

"And now the festive pomp proceeds,

Which grandeur gilds, and beauty leads;
But lo! amidst the adoring train,
Who circle that majestic fane,

One lonely pilgrim wends along,
Unheded by the busy throng;
He only breathes no lowly prayer,
And bends no glance of rapture there.
Robed in a simple pilgrim's vest,
His arms are folded o'er his breast-
Thin scattered locks of purest snow
Wave o'er a wan and wasted brow:
Whence time's soft touch hath swept away
Each trace of passion's earlier sway;
And all that once was wont to move
Hath changed to that meek placid love,
Which speaks a heart-a hope above.

But, wherefore doth he shrink to bow,
Where myriads plight the willing vow?
When every cheek is flushed in gladness,
Say, whence his brow is wrapt in sadness?
And why, when mingling choirs prolong,
In Dian's praise the votive hymn-
Why turns he from that raptured song,
With mien as sad-and eye as dim-
As if that bright exulting train

Were mourners o'er a hero's bier-
That melting lay-so soft-so dear-
Were but a deep funereal strain ?
It is not that he proudly deems

His breast from earth's emotions free ;
Not his such cold unfeeling dreams,
No rigid heartless stoic he.

No lofty philosophic lore

Hath led him to contemn mankind,
And lured him vainly to explore
The mazes of th' eternal mind.
And learn-what nature taught before-
That 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
Their blindness, and their misery :-
More gently he hath learnt to scan
The errors of his fellow-man;
His tears were early taught to flow,
His heart to bleed for others' woe;
When not a sigh, or murmuring groan,
Had spoke the pressure of his own.
And ask ye whence that ray of heaven,
No high philosophy could teach-
No bard's enraptured visions reach-
That noble generous love-was given?
O gaze upon his wasted cheek,

His pensive brow, and lowly mien;
These lineaments too well bespeak
The persecuted Nazarene.

And such he was! the tear that steals
Unmarked his sacred soul reveals;
He turns but from that idol shrine,

To seek a Saviour more divine;

And breathe the meek imploring prayer,
For those who kneel deluded there.

But know though driven perchance to roam,
Without a refuge or a home-

To meet the sneer of cold disdain
To pine, in peril or in pain-

To share the base marauder's doom-
Or sink unpitied or forgot,

And moulder in a nameless tomb

Thrice blessed is the Christian's lot!
In darkest shame, in deadliest ill,
Jehovah is his solace still;

And hope to cheer his path is given,

Whilst peace and love, from mortals driven,

Await him in his destined heaven." [pp. 10-14.]

Such is the beautiful description of St. John, given by our author. There are many passages equal to this, insomuch that we feel greatly perplexed, whence to make our quotations. But we now turn to far different subjects:

"For, ere yon orb, that beams so bright,
Hath veil'd his waning rays in night,
The wild commingling yell of war
Shall burst upon thee from afar;

The shock of hostile legions meeting,

The tramp of routed bands retreating—
The fierce pursuers' frantic cry,
Of vengeance and of victory!

E'en now the pealing trumpets swell,
And Fancy wings her airy car,

And bears me to the battle plain-

Where scenes of blood, and deeds of war,

Demand a louder-bolder strain

Then, Pilgrim, for awhile, farewell!

And may we meet in peace again!" [pp 24, 25.]

To paint in glowing colours the horrors of "the embattled field;" to transport us with the maddening triumph of the victor; to portray the fears of the conquered, who, as they hurry from the scene of carnage, "hear a voice in every wind," and shudder at every distant sound; to exhibit mankind in the violent extremes of grief and rage-of victory and defeat;-has generally been imagined to be the true province of the poet-at least, those of them who delight in scenes of carnage: and yells of savage triumph, and the greatest anguish and despair of which human nature is capable, are the general favourites. But to describe those feelings, of which all are conscious, in a just and poetical manner, is no less his duty; and is, perhaps, the most difficult part of his business. The sketch of the aged saint, which we have introduced, though not distorted by those violent passions in which poets delight, is

truly poetical; and there are, perhaps, many writers, who could accurately describe," the horrors of that earthly hell”—a field of battle-who would have completely failed in delineating the venerable Pilgrim. But we hasten to introduce our readers to the young man, in quest of whom the apostle travels: he is here described as the victorious chieftain.

“And who, on yon steep crag's rude brow,
In pensive attitude doth stand?
No conquering pride his looks avow,
And who that saw would deem him now
The chieftain of the victor band?
His crested helmet's flowing pride;
His sword, in carnage deeply dyed;
His arms, with dust and gore defiled,
Beneath his feet are rudely piled:
He moves not, and his fiery eye
Rolls wildly round in vacancy;
Unseen the dead, beneath him lying-
Unheard the deep groans of the dying.
Yet foremost in the desperate fray,
Through the thick legions of the foe,
His arm shot panic and dismay-

His sabre struck no second blow:
And chiefs, who never quailed before,

Had braved him once-and braved no more.
Crowned with triumphant laurels now,

What deep dejection crowns his brow?" [p. 29.]

The friend of Leo, (the chieftain above mentioned,) is Azor, who, under the disguise of a young warrior, though in fact of a sex too mild to brave the fury of battle, in consequence of an attachment of the purest and tenderest nature, accompanies him to the field, to watch over and console him, in those moments when guilt renders the bravest cowards. It is to her Leo makes the following confession, as to the cause of his dejection, though we cannot but remark, en passant, that it is extremely unnatural to suppose that he was really ignorant who his companion was, after so long and so intimate a friendship.

"Oh Azor!' thus the chief replied,
And deep and heavily he sighed;

That laurelled wreath, that vaunted fame,
Are now my hate-my scorn-my shame ;-
Their pleasure scarce deserves a thought-
If rapture, 'twere too dearly bought
By those whom Passion's blast hath driven,
Till they, like me, for fame have given
Their peace on earth, their hope of heaven.