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this present poem and the last, is the change from four feet measure into heroic verse; and so far, we think, there is a change on the side of improvement. Those who have done us the honour to read what we have written on the former of these poems will have perceived that we cannot but highly approve of the resolution his lordship has announced in his dedication, to forbear, as he modestly expresses himself, trespassing upon the public patience for some years. It was also very agreeable to us to be informed by this dedication, of the valuable and excellent qualities of Mr. Thomas Moore, whom we have so often heard distinguished by the name of Anacreon Moore, a name, which, on the testimony of Lord Byron, stands consecrated by unshaken public principle, and the most undoubted and various talents.” We have little or no acquaintance with the works of Mr. Moore but through the Edinburgh Reviewers, now also the friends of Lord Byron, and the patrons of his genius; and the impression left on our minds from the perusal of the review of his performances by those critics was not such as to prepare us for an exalted eulogium on the beneficial exertion of his talents,

It is very pleasing to observe the truly christian spirit with which these various persons have forgotten all their differences: to find the author of the “ English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" laying down his animosities, and retracting his denunciations, dedicating his Bride of Abydos to Lord Holland, and his Corsair to the celebrated Mr. Moore, to whose virtues and public services these same Scotch Reviewers at one time so forgot their own and their country's obligations; and of the merit of whose labours Lord Byron himself seemed once to entertain so erroneous an opinion, when he thus expressed himself in relation to that gentleman :

“ Grieved to condemn, the Muse must still be just,

Nor spare melodious advocates of lust.” We have supported the disclosure of Lord Byron's intention to withdraw himself out of the reach of our pens with becoming composure; trusting, as we venture to do, that this interval will be employed in preparing benefits and blessings to the community, in conjunction with his amiable and philanthropic friends. It is some little diminution of these hopes to find, that his lordship cannot reckon upon so ample an enjoyment of the edifying society of the friend to whom he dedicates this poem, as might be desired for the promotion of these beneficial ends, on account of the absorption of all the present leisure of that gentleman in the preparation of a great poem, whose scene is to be laid in the East; on which we may probably have to exercise our pens. Lord Byron begs to be allowed to add a few words on a subject on which all men are supposed to be fluent, and none agreeable--self. He again announces his meditated self-imposed silence, which he admits ought to last more than the few years for which he has thus engaged for its continuance, as a penance for having written so much; but he does not seem to admit that the quality as well as the quantity may be a good reason for this negative atonement. We have been always dissatisfied with the stories, the characters, and composition of his pieces, however greatly we may have admired particular passages, and we have always, as it has been our duty to do as persons professing to assist the public judgment on literary works, supported our opinions by the best reasoning of which we have been capable. We must now declare our incompetency to understand the force of the apology offered in this dedication for the particular cast of characters which have been the heroes of Lord Byron's tales—“ that he should have been glad to have rendered them more perfect and amiable, if possible.” He may certainly protest against all personal responsibility for the conduct of his heroes; but every man is responsible for his choice of characters, where the whole moral world lies before him; for the consistency and tendency of his stories; and for the dress and colouring in which he has presented virtue and vice to the imagination of his readers.

We do not know to whom Lord Byron alludes in adverting to the odd critical exceptions which some have taken to the heroes of his poems; but whoever they may be, they have our hearty assent, for which our reasons have been given in the preceding article on the Bride of Abydos. And even were the characters well chosen, we should yet think ourselves justified in complaining of their perfect sameness throughout all the pieces of this writer. If Selim had fortunately escaped with his bride, his story might have been very consistently pursued in the Corsair, who is Selim redivirus ; and as the Corsair mysteriously vanishes from view, the dark termination of the poem now before us might have run very well into the trackless and cloudy beginning of the sanguinary career of the Giaour.

His lordship observes, that“ if he has deviated into the gloomy vanity of drawing from self, the pictures are probably like, because they are unfavourable.” Let it be remembered that we have always disclaimed such uncourteous and unkind suspicions. In our article on the Childe Harold, we were peculiarly anxious to justify ourselves in this particular, that we might have the way clear for an attack upon that offensive character, and might be the more free to point the disgust of our readers at the conceited misanthropical airs which are sometimes assumed by persons who



think fit to quarrel with their allotment, because all things are not subjected to their selfish pleasures, or who with hearts as merry as they are mischievous, affect, for the sake of the picturesque in character, to despise those sources of happiness which they themselves have corrupted and abused. Of the Giaour and Selim, and the Corsair Conrad, we have also sufficiently expressed our dislike, upon the strength of the same disclaimer of any allusion to resemblances, with which we have nothing to do. Surely we may be permitted to adopt a passage in illustration of the sentiments which we have expressed in relation to this whole set of characters from a poem of Lord Byron, of the publication of which we are sorry to hear him express regrets, thinking as we do of that performance.

“ Next view in state, proud prancing on his
The golden-crested haughty Marinion,
Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight,
Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight,
The gibbet or the field prepared to grace,

A mighty mixture of the great and base." A great many other passages might be cited from the “ Englisli Bards and Scotch Reviewers," but we forbear so to do, as we find in that very spirited work so much severe satire levelled at persons who now appear in the list of the admired friends of the noble poet, and for whose sake he declares himself to repent of the publication. A French satirist has said, that our conduct towards our friends should be regulated with reference to the possibility of their becoming our enemies; the truth of the converse of this proposition is illustrated in the case of Lord Byron, which shews us the prudence of treating our enemies so as to leave the way open to a hearty and uncompunctious friendship. To the admirers of the Edinburgh Review, of Mr. Moore's poems, of Lord Byron's characters, and Lord Holland's dinners, we leave the pleasure of exulting in these cordial changes of sentiment, these reciprocal discoveries of merit, and these peaceful triumphs of reconciliation so propitious to virtue and letters; while we lay before our readers the only passage which we have room to extract from this

poem, and which we think will help to confirm the general testimony which we have been happy to bear to the genius of the poet. The · passage is descriptive of the condition in which the fond Medora is left by her husband, the Corsair, on his embarking on the enter prize which proved his last. 56 • And is he gone:

con sudden solitude
How oft that fearful question will intrude?
''Twas but an instant past--and here he stood!

• And now'--without the portal's porch she rush'd
And then at length her tears in freedom gush'd,
Big-bright--and fast, unknown to her they fell;
But still her lips refus'd to send — Farewell !'
For in that word that fatal word-howe'er
We promise-hope-believe there breathes despair.
O’er every feature of that still, pale face,
Had sorrow fix'd what time can ne'er erase:
The tender blue of that large loving eye
Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy--
Till-Oh, how far! it caught a glimpse of him-
And then it flow'd—and phrenzied seem'd to swim
Through those long, dark, and glistening lashes dew'd
With drops of sadness oft to be renew'd.
• He's gone!'-against her heart that hand is driven,
Convuls’d and quick-then gently raised to heaven;
She look”d and saw the heaving of the main;

The white sail set-she dared not look again.”
With respect to Conrad, the hero of this poem, we cannot help
observing the address with which the poet contrives to interest
the female reader in the fate of a robber and murderer by pro-
fession. Dark, bloody, merciless, with chilling looks, despair in
his frown, and “a laughing devil in his sneer," the hero is first intro-
duced to us the veriest compound of all that humanity abhors; but
it soon transpires that this is one of those gentlemen of whom
Lord Byron's muse is so fond, “ a magnificent and fiery spirit, "
converted by disappointment (the natural consequence of consort-
ing with the dissolute) into a rebel against the laws of God and
nature, and a grand violator of the peace of mankind. One
redeeming exception, however, one flowery spot, like an Oasis in
the sandy desart, arrests the roying vision as it wanders over the
desolate scene: Conrad loves and is loved. To this little para-
dise the poet's eye is principally directed to this the reader
willingly accompanies him. At length nothing else is contem-
plated, or if seen, the effect is lost in the beauty which this captis
vating quality sheds around it. We learn at last to look with
complacency on all else that belongs to the hero for the sake of
this solitary grace; and when we find him rescuing the sex by
dozens, and passing through fire and smoking ruins to save a
whole haram from destruction, our prejudices and affections can
no longer resist the attraction of such brilliant humanity. On
this fantastic composition of a man we have already commented;
but we must once more declare ourselves hard to be reconciled to
these pictures of character which give to the fierce and sanguinary
what belongs only to the gentle and generous. For the want of
a sound moral it is scarcely compensation enough to be merely

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natural; but to violate the consistencies of morality without any charter from nature is a gratuitous injury to the cause of virtue, to which cause we are persuaded Lord Byron is no intentional enemy, and of which we trust he will one day be, what he is so well qualified to become, the devoted and accomplished champion.

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Art.XXVII.-1.Christ, and not St.Peter, the Rock of the Chris

tian Church, and St. Paul the Founder of the Church in Britain. A Letter to the Clergy of the Diocese of St. David's. By the Right Reverend Thomas Burgess, D.D.F.R.S. and

F.A.S. Bishop of St. David's. 1912. 2. A second Letter from the Bishop of St. David's to the Clergy

of his Diocese on the Independence of the ancient British Church on any Foreign Jurisdiction; with a Postscript on the

Testimony of Clemens Romanus. 1812. . The principal object of the pamphlets before us is to disprove the general claims, grounded by the advocates of papal supremacy on our Saviour's speech to St. Peter, and their particular pretensions with respect to the church in this island; in which the right reverend author labours to prove that St. Paul founded a church even before the foundation of the church in Rome. A few years ago, we might have been inclined to rank these enquiries amongst those exercises of learned sagacity with which the world, as it is, has little to do. But the times are greatly altered in this respect. The dormant claims of popery have risen with renewed vigour from the long slumber, which soine mistook for death. No one, who has paid any attention to the recent proceedings and publications of the Romanists, to the assertions and anticipations of Mr. Butler, or the sublimer visions which seem to float in the prophetic eye of Dr. Dromgoole, will deem it a nugatory task to prosecute enquiries like those which have engaged the attention of this excellent bishop.

The bishop first discusses the text, which has always been the corner-stone of papal usurpation, and shews that the rock, on which Christ declared that he would build his church, was not the person of St. Peter, but that apostle's recent confession of his Messiahship. It requires but little knowledge of the nature of religious controversy to be aware of the necessity of disputing over and over again the same ground, which has been the scene of repeated victories. The tide does not more pertinaciously re:

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