Of streamers from ten thousand canopies;- Of the Abyssinian trumpet, swell and float!" If this be splendid and magnificent, the following is no less wild and terrible. "'Twas more than midnight now,-a fearful pause In every horror doom'd to bear its part!- His fiery bolts; and though the heavens looked red, With their swollen heads sunk blackening on their breasts, As if they sought, but saw no mercy there; As if they felt, though poison racked them through, While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train Would have met death with transport by his side *"This trumpet is often called in Abyssinia, nesser cano, which signifies the note of the eagle."—Note of Bruce's editor. Here mute and helpless gasped;-but as they died The stony look of horror and despair, Upon that mocking Fiend, whose Veil now raised, Not the long promised light, the brow, whose beaming Is it enough? or must I, while a thrill Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still? Ha, my young bride!-'tis well-take thou thy seat; Here, drink and should thy lover's conquering arms And I'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss."" From this very general outline of the story, and from these extracts, our readers will perceive that this singular Poem abounds in striking, though somewhat extravagant, situations, incidents, and characters. There is something very fine in the Vision of the Sil * "The Afghauns believe each of the numerous solitudes and deserts of their country to be inhabited by a lonely demon, whom they call the Ghoolee Beeabau, or Spirit of the Waste. They often illustrate the wildness of any sequestered tribe, by saying, they are wild as the Demon of the Waste." Elphinstone's Caubul. ver Veil floating ever in the van of battle, and in the unquaking and invincible faith of the Believers in the mysterious Being whose glories it is supposed to shroud. The wildness and madness of religious fanaticism entempests and tumultuates the whole Poem; and perhaps that fanaticism strikes us with more mournful and melancholy awe, from the wickedness of him who inspires it; and who rejoicingly awakens both the good and bad passions of man, to delude, to mock, and destroy him. The character of Mokanna is, we think, originally and vigorously conceived, though perhaps its formation is attributed too exclusively to the gnawing sense of his hideous deformity of countenance. But this is an Eastern tale; and in all the fictions of the East, whether they regard characters or events, nature is described only in her extravagances. Nor does this proceed solely from the wayward imagination of Eastern genius; for the history of those mighty kingdoms exhibits the wonderful career of many a wild and fantastic spirit, many a dream-like change, many a mysterious revolution. Thrones have been overturned, and altars demolished, by men starting suddenly up in all the power of savage enthusiasm; and every realm has had its Prophets and Impostors, its conquerors and Kings. The display, indeed, of successful imposture in politics or religion has not been confined to the kingdoms of the East; but there it has assumed the wildest and most extravagant form, has sprung from, and been supported by, the strongest passions, and has most lamentably overthrown, ruined, and degraded, the character of man. Different, indeed, as the situations in which Mokanna is placed are to those of another fictitious personage, there is, notwithstanding, a striking similarity in their characters, and in the causes to which the formation of that character is attributed, we mean the Black Dwarf. He comes deformed into the world; the injury, scorn, misfortunes, and miseries, which that deformity brings upon him, distort his feelings and his reason,-inspire him with a malignant hatred of his kind, and a sullen disbelief in the goodness of Providence. So far he bears a general resemblance to Mokanna. But the Black Dwarf is the inhabitant of a lonely cottage on a lonely moor; his life is past in a hideous solitude; the few persons who come in contact with him are low or ordinary mortals; his hatred of his kind is sullenly passive, or active only in bursts of passion, of which man, rather than men, is the uninjured object; while the darkness of his soul is occasionally enlightened by transient gleams of pity, tenderness, penitence, and remorse. But Mokanna starts up from the unknown region of his birth, at once a Prophet and a Conqueror; he is for ever surrounded with power and majesty; and the "Silver Veil" may be supposed to be the shrine of incarnate Deity. His hatred of man, and horror of himself, urge him to destroy. He is the Evil Spirit; nor is he satisfied with bloodshed, though it drench a whole land, unless he can also ruin the soul, and create wickedness out of misery. Which of these cha racters is the most impressive, we shall not decide. They are both natural; that is to say, we can conceive them to exist in nature. Perhaps greater powers of genius was required to dignify and impart a character of sublimity to the wretched and miserable Dwarf, in the stone hut of his own building, than to Mokanna, beneath his Silver Veil, and in his palace of porphyry. The character of Zelica is, in many places, touched with great delicacy and beauty, but it is very dimly conceived, and neither vigorously nor consistently executed. The progress of that mental malady, which ultimately throws her into the power of the impostor, is confusedly traced; and very frequently philosophical observations and physical facts, on the subject of insanity, are given in the most unempassioned and heavy language, when the Poet's mind should have been entirely engrossed with the case of the individual before him. For a long time we cannot tell whether Mokanna has effected her utter ruin or not, Mr. Moore having the weakness to conceal that, of which the distinct knowledge is absolutely necessary to the understanding of the poem. There is also a good deal of trickery in the exhibition he makes of this lady's mental derangement. Whether she be in the haram, the gardens of the haram, the charnel-house, or the ramparts of a fortress, she is always in some uncommon attitude, or some extraordinary scene. At one time she is mad, and at another she is perfectly in her senses; and often, while we are wondering at her unexpected appearance, she is out of sight in a moment, and leaves us almost as much bewildered as herself. On the whole her character is a failure. Of Azim we could say much, if it were not that the situations in which he is placed so strongly reminds us of Lord Byron's heroes. There is nothing like plagiarism or servile imitation about Mr. Moore, but the current of his thoughts has been drawn into the more powerful one of Lord Byron's mind; and, except that Azim is represented as a man of good principles, he looks, speaks, and acts, exactly in the style of those energetic heroes who have already so firmly established themselves in the favour of the public. We confess, therefore, that we have not felt for him the interest due to his youth, beauty, valour, misfortunes and death. The next poem Of Eden stood, disconsolate; Should e're have lost that glorious place." The angel who keeps the gates of light then tells the Peri the conditions on which she may be re-admitted into Paradise. "Tis written in the Book of Fate, THE PERI YET MAY BE FORGIVEN, WHO BRINGS TO THIS ETERNAL GATE THE GIFT THAT IS MOST DEAR TO HEAV'N! Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin; 'Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in.'" The Peri then flies away in quest of this gift, and in a field of battle beholds a glorious youth slain, when endeavouring to destroy the invader of his country. She carries to the gates of Paradise a drop of blood from his heroic heart; but, "Sweet,' said the Angel, as she gave 'Sweet is our welcome of the Brave But see,-alas!—the crystal bar Than ev'n this drop the boon must be, That opes the gates of heav'n for thee!' " Once more the Peri wings her flight to earth, and, after bathing her plumage in the fountains of the Nile floats over the grots, the balmy groves, and the royal sepulchres of Egypt, till at length she alights in the vale of Rosetta near the azure calm of the lake of Maris. This beautiful scene is devastated by the plague, and "Just then, beneath some orange trees, Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze Were wantoning together, free, Like age at play with infancy, Beneath that fresh and springing bower, Had thither stolen to die alone; But he is not left alone to die. "But see-who yonder comes by stealth, Like a young envoy, sent by Health, In the cool lake, her loosen'd tresses." The lovers die in each others arms, and the Peri carries up to paradise the farewell sigh breathed by the devoted maid. The reader of this part of the poem will not fail to observe a most striking similarity in the description of the death of these lovers, to the death of Frankfort and Magdalene, in Mr. Wilson's City |