POETRY. 1822. Art. 18. Elegy on the Death of Percy Bysshe Shelley. By Ar thur Brooke. 8vo. 1s. 6d. Ollier. We have expressed our opinions as to the poetical talents of the unfortunate subject of this elegy, and as to the general tendency and taste of his productions, on more than one occasion; and we are not desirous of returning to the merits or demerits of this promising but at the same time threatening young man, any farther than we are forced by the tributes of survivors to his memory. The early death of the possessor of acknowleged genius must ever be a melancholy topic, and we are unwilling to disturb the tender recollections of the more immediate friends of the deceased: but we have now a paramount duty to perform; the duty of warning those who may be misled by the excessive and indiscriminate praise of the elegiac writer now before us, and may be induced on his authority to receive all Mr. Shelley's works as the emanations of unmixed benevolence, guided and applied by consummate wisdom. To omit every unnecessary allusion, we will only recall, for one instant, to the memory of our readers, the allusion in the "Prometheus" of Mr. Shelley, relating to the most sacred Being that ever appeared on this earth. * If that allusion can be reconciled either to kindness or correctness of feeling, (to say the very least of it!) we are satisfied with the panegyric of the pseudonymous Mr. Arthur Brooke: but, if otherwise, we strongly admonish him not to tamper with the honest indignation of pious and enlightened minds. "Knowing what we know," and "reading what we have read," our estimate of the following piece of extravagant adulation may easily be conjectured: But who shall launch the lightning of the mind, Impalling clouds which slaves and tyrants wind O'er the bewildered world, their last defence imag To raise, unscoffing, his subjected sense, Unveil foul superstition's idiot faith, And crush the viperous worm which lurks that mask beneath! For he with intuition's glance looked through All nature's mysteries; and, kind as wise, From the green bud that drinks the vernal dew, To the vast sphere rolling through boundless skies, The influence of their bland benignities; And like a new Prometheus brought to men Lost Hope's abandoned flame;-shall it be quenched again?" We are fully open to the poetical impression of the foregoing passage, and give the writer much credit for his language and ver * See Rev. vol, xciv. p. 168. sification མཝཱ sification on this and several occasions: but where was his justice, or his taste, when he talked of the genius' of Percy Shelley as mightier far than that of Sheridan? and what shall we say of < his philosophy or his religion when he thus speaks All chance and change; and in whose sightless scheme b Are equal. ind gazmory ends Need we refer to the many sparrows? —“Think of that, Master Brooke; think of that!" i te disk vlue sil Art. 19. Verses on the Death of Percy Bysshe Shelley. By Ber nard Barton. 8vo. pp. 23. Baldwin and Co. 1822 1951 ***Would Mr. Percy Shelley ever have understood his ownÍ meaning ?" This is a question yet agitated with warmth among i his little school of heretic-admirers; and, we fear, it has hitherto been answered in the negative. That he had not already attained to this desirable result of every man's pursuits seems to be nearly to an unanimous opinion, mobelw Nothing, in plain truth, can be more injudicious, than to dragot before the public the names and notions of men unfortunately dis tinguished by their genius and their excentricity, more generally than necessity absolutely requires after their decease; and espe cially when that decease is premature *, as in the present instance, we should always be disposed to say with the old dramatist, Why, let the curtain drop - the farce is o'er Mr. Barton, in the warmth and energy of his virtuous zeal, (for virtuous it most assuredly is,) comes forwards to write a species of theological ballad on the irreligious tendency of Mr. Shelley's works, in opposition to the eulogy of Mr. Brooke; while he treats his memory with unfeigned respect, and pays (in our judgment) even more than a due reverence to his talents. There is something very "out-of-the-way" and unreasonable, as well as unpoetical, in all this. Which of Mr. Shelley's enthusiastic admirers will derive any thing but an addition to his unwise zeal, by this prosaic exposure of the faults of his leader? On the other hand, what argumentative opponent of Mr. Shelley's utter and almost avowed nonsense will stand in need of Mr. Barton's aid, to prove the following facts? With those who think they view in thee If their's, in truth, a creed can be, Satan Who view with scorn all modes of faith, Though seal'd by many a martyr's death, *Mr. S. was recently drowned in a boat, on the coast of Italy. Y 4 And, As, however, we all do frequently want the assistance of a friendly monitor, we should be most ungracious not to acknowlege the real obligation which we owe to such warning voices as the above; and therefore, in entire consonance with Mr. Barton's moral objects, we heartily say with him, Peace to the manes of poor Percy Shelley!' 6 Art. 20. The Hopes of Matrimony: a Poem. By John Holland, Author of "Sheffield Park," &c. 12mo. 3s. 6d. Boards. Westley. 1822. After the promulgation of such unpalateable arguments as Mr. Malthus has brought forwards, he must not expect to rest in peace; and he has here a new antagonist in a gentleman who recommends all his friends to get married, in very pleasing and. pretty verse. This little poem is certainly very creditable to the talents and industry of the author; who tells us, in his preface, that he has ventured to devote the brief leisure of a situation in life which compels him to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow, and to labor for the support of a family, with the welfare of which he stands connected as a brother and a son, to the com position of the present work.' The versification is smooth and easy, and the style throughout is that of a clever man, who has been accustomed to read good poetry: but occasionally a few prosaic lines occur, and here and there we find symptoms of want of polished taste. The sentiments in every respect are very pure! and excellent. We shall content ourselves with quoting the au- | thor's affectionate remembrance of his mother: On thy dear lap, oh Britain! first I drew An An English mother bore me and caress'd; For when affection's claim I cease to hold This hand be nerveless and this heart grow cold!” Art. 21. Poetical Essays: by A. J. Mason. Embellished with Eleven Engravings on Wood, executed by the Author from Designs by the late John Thurston, Esq. 8vo. 8s. Boards. Boys. 1822. The In spite of the pretty wood-cuts with which this little volume is ornamented, we fear that it will not excite much interest in any circle beyond that of the author's immediate friends. encouraging wishes' of those friends, we are told, as usual, induced him to offer his poems to the public: but they seem to be more polite than sincere, or at least more indulgent than acute. Should these essays, however, happen to fall into the hands of any of our readers, we beg that they will take the trouble of turning to page 63., where they will see an interesting representation of the author presenting an address to his wife on the anniversary of her birth-day, February 8. 1818. Mr. M. is handsomely dressed "for the afternoon," and Mrs. M. is elegantly attired in one of "Ackermann's dresses for May." The address opens with the following impassioned lines: The year is past, and you, my wife, Receive (dear partner of my life) A line or two from me.' We hope that Mr. M. will meet with more success as an artist, than he is likely to obtain as a votary of the muses. Art. 22. The River Derwent, Part the First; and other Poems. By William Branwhite Clarke, B. A. of Jesus College, Cambridge. 8vo. 68. 6d. Boards. Longman and Co. 1822. We scarcely know what to say of this poem, for it is neither good enough to be praised nor poor enough to be condemned. It betrays that golden mediocrity which is so valuable in every thing but poetry, and which has been denounced by an old poet as a most unpardonable sin. We discern in it no genius, no fervor, no deep poetical feeling, but much fair versification, some pretty descriptions, and many excellent sentiments. At the present day, however, when poetry is so cheap and abundant, these qualifications will not be found sufficient to intitle Mr. Clarke to favorable public notice as a poet; and we therefore very much fear that his River Derwent will be suffered to stagnate in the warehouse of its publishers. We regret that a gentleman whose talents appear to be be so respectable should suffer a disappointment like this: but, if companionship be any comfort, he only shares the fate of ninetenths of the poetical writers who appear before the public. Were it worth while to intrude our farther remarks on Mr. Clarke, we should advise him to beware how he imitates Lord Byron. It is not for common mortals to wield the weapons of a giant. Had Omphale (to reverse the story) attempted to raise the club of Hercules, it would only have exposed her weakness. In many of the stanzas before us, we trace the most palpable imitations of his Lordship's style, which serve to provoke an injurious comparison. Every reader of Lord Byron's poetry must have remarked that he sometimes crowds a number of substan-. tives together, as in the passage in Julia's beautiful letter to Don Juan: "Man's love is of man's life a thing apart; 'Tis woman's whole existence; man may range but Mr. Clarke furnishes us with a longer catalogue in two lines: Heaven, water, earth; hill, champaign, light, and shade';' Bud, blossom, branch, trunk, leaf, and bush, and blade." P. 41. This would be very like our old friend the Spelling-book, were the words formed of the same number of syllables :— Ba, Be, Bi, Bo, Bu, &c. &c. 124 The best stanzas in the poem are those on Greece, p.17..e whose struggles and dangers present, indeed, a noble theme to the poet. Art. 23. A Translation in Verse of the Epistles from Laadamiani to Protesilaus, Enone to Paris, and Leander to Herò,from the Works of Ovid. By Joseph Guy, jun., Master of the Academy, Foley-Street. 4to. 5s. Baldwin and Co. 1822. Reviewers have been sometimes accused of not reading the productions on which they sit in judgment. For ourselves, we are not conscious of having evaded this necessary and too often wearisome part of our duty: but, if ever an omission of this kind could be justified, we think that something might be urged in our favor when such poetry as that of Mr. Guy falls under our inspection. The first page of his book gave us the following promising specimens of his knowlege of Latin prosody, and of his skill in English versification: 10 When war from Laodamia urged your way, and this, too, in spite of the perpetual recurrence of Laodamia inq the original, which, being scarce and not within the reach of comÞET mon readers, Mr. Guy has been so kind as to print at the end of his own version. It is, however, in his rhymes that his forte seems chiefly to lie." There is a pleasure in surprize, and Mr. Guy was determined to |