Yet in making this poem assume a character so decidedly religious, in the full sense of the term, Mr. Montgomery must have felt that he was at once endangering its popularity, with a large proportion of readers; and that if fame were his object, or at least the present and immediate enjoyment of fame in the admiration of his contemporaries, he was considerably narrowing the compass of his hopes. The number of those whose minds would be sufficiently cultivated to appreciate the poem as a work of genius, and at the same time, capacitated for enjoying all its moral beauties, he must have reckoned, would be comparatively small. And not only so; but in the execution of this plan, the poet was imposing on himself the necessity of rejecting all factitious ornament, all exuberance of fancy which should not comport with the solemn realities which occupied his song he was undertaking to reconcile religious with poetical associations; undertaking to disprove the assertion, to which some former failures had lent plausibility, that they were scarcely compatible with each other. But it is time that we proceed to the poem itself, which is to show to what extent these difficulties have been overcome; and with what degree of success Mr. Montgomery has realized the object which he designed to accomplish in it.

The Introductory Note' states, in reference to the scene of action in which the Poem is laid, that the descendants of the younger children of Adam are supposed, by the author, to occupy a territory on the eastern side of the Tigris, near its junction with the Euphrates, including the land of Eden: the other inhabited parts of the world having been gradually colonized by emigrants from these, or peopled by the posterity of Cain. In process of time, after the Sons of God had formed connexions with the daughters of men, and there were Giants in the earth, the latter assumed to be Lords and Rulers over mankind, till among themselves arose One, excelling all his brethren in knowledge and power, who became their King and by their aid, in the course of a long life, subdued all the inhabited earth, except the land of Eden. This land at the head of a mighty army, principally composed of the descendants of Cain, he has invaded and conquered, even to the banks of the Euphrates, at the opening of the action of the poem.'

In vain the younger race of Adam rose,
With force unequal, to repel their foes;
Their fields in blood, their homes in ruins lay,
Their whole inheritance became a prey;

cry,

The stars, to whom as Gods they raised their
Roll'd, heedless of their offerings, through the sky;

Till urged on Eden's utmost bounds at length,
In fierce despair they rallied all their strength,
They fought, but they were vanquish'd in the fight,
Captured, or slain, or scatter'd in the flight:
The morning battle scene at eve was spread
With ghastly heaps, the dying and the dead;
The dead unmourn'd, unburied left to lie,
By friends and foes the dying left to die.
The victim, while he groan'd his soul away,
Heard the gaunt vulture hurrying to his prey,
Then strengthless felt the ravening beak, that tore
His widen'd wounds, and drank the living gore.

'One sole-surviving remnant, void of fear,
Woods in their front, Euphrates in their rear,
Were sworn to perish at a glorious cost,

For all they once had known, and loved, and lost;

A small, a brave, a melancholy band,

The orphans, and the childless of the land. pp. 14 15.

While the hostile armies are encamped in this position, a youth, whose character and fortunes form the connecting principle of the poem, secretly withdraws at midnight from the tents of Cain, and pursues his flight over the southern bills to the valley of Patriarchs. It was the Minstrel Javan.

The Giant King, who led the hosts of Cain,
Delighted in the Minstrel and his vein ;

No hand, no voice, like Javan's, could controul,
With soothing concords, his tempestuous soul.
With him the wandering Bard, who found no rest
Through ten years' exile, sought his native west.'

-o'er his shoulder hung,
Broad as a warrior's shield, his harp unstrung,
A shell of tortoise, exquisitely wrought
With hieroglyphics of embodied thought;
Jubal himself enchased the polish'd frame;
And Javan won it in the strife for fame,
Among the sons of Music, when their Sire

To his victorious skill adjudged the lyre.' pp. 24, 25.

Upon this character, Mr. Montgomery has evidently bestowed elaborate pains; and has, perhaps, been seduced by a strong identification of himself with the imaginary bard, to rest too much of the interest of the poem on sympathy with his individual fortunes the action of the narrative is not made to depend sufficiently upon his sufferings or exertions, to constitute him the hero of the song. In pursuing his flight, we find ourselves reluc

tantly hurried away, far from the business and action of the history, and are, at first, rather impatient at our detention in the Patriarch's glen. The conduct of this part of the story wears too much the appearance of an episode not apparently connected with the progress of the general drama, and, therefore, is of a length disproportionate to an underplot. Mr. Montgomery seems to have almost forgotten the position of events and the opposing armies, and at length he succeeds, by the melody of his numbers, and the rising dignity and interest of the narrative, in making us forget them too. We mention in this place what appears to us, the principal fault in this plan, because we think it must be admitted at the outset to be a fault, and that it may then be dismissed, as detracting little from the merit or subsequent interest of the poem. We cannot conceive that the perusal of the third, fourth, and fifth Cantos, which are occupied with Enoch's reception of the returning prodigal, his naration of the death of Adam, his performance of the anniversary sacrifice, and his prophecy, is likely to be interrupted by any disturbing conjectures relative to the antecedent narrative, or by any dissatisfaction with the Poet. They are in themselves highly interesting; and they cannot be read, we think, without strong and almost overpowering emotion by any one who has the least pretensions to sympathy with the enthusiasm of genius, or the inspiration of devout feeling. The portrait of Adam, in the four Canto, and the circumstances of his death, form a perfect Cartoon. Enoch is the narrator.

• Would that my tongue were gifted to display
The terror and the glory of that day,

When, seized and stricken by the hand of Death,
* The first transgressor yielded up his breath !

Nigh threescore years, with interchanging light,
The host of heaven have measured day and night,
Since we beheld the ground, from which he rose,
On his returning dust in silence close.

. With him his noblest sons might not compare,
In godlike feature and majestic air;
Not out of weakness rose his gradual frame,.
Perfect from his Creator's hand he came;
And as in form excelling, so in mind
The Sire of men transcended all mankind:
A soul was in his eye, and in his speech
A dialect of heaven no art could reach ;
For oft of old to him, the evening breeze
Had borne the voice of God among the trees;
Angels were wont their songs with his to blend,
And talk with him as their familiar friend.

But deep remorse for that mysterious crime,
Whose dire contagion through elapsing time
Diffused the curse of death beyond controul,
Had wrought such self-abasement in his soul,
That he, whose honours were approach'd by none,
Was yet the meekest man beneath the sun.
From sin, as from the serpent that betray'd
Eve's early innocence, he shrunk afraid;
Vice he rebuked with so austere a frown,
He seem'd to bring an instant judgment down,
Yet while he chid, compunctious tears would start,
And yearning tenderness dissolve his heart;
The guilt of all his race became his own,
He suffer'd as if he had sinn'd alone.
Within our glen to lial love endear'd,
Abroad for wisdom, truth and justice fear'd,
He walk'd so humbly in the sight of all,
The vilest ne'er reproach'd him with his fall.
Children were his delight;-they ran to meet
His soothing hand, and clasp his honour'd feet;
While 'midst their fearless sports supremely blest,
He grew in heart a child among the rest:
Yet as a Parent, nought beneath the sky
Touch'd him so quickly as an infant's eye;
Joy from its smile of happiness he caught,
Its flash of rage sent horror through his thought,
His smitten conscience felt as fierce a pain,
As if he fell from innocence again.

6

One morn, I track'd him on his lonely way,
Pale as the gleam of slow awakening day;
With feeble step he climb'd yon craggy height,
Thence fix'd on distant Paradise his sight;
He gazed awhile in silent thought profound,
Then falling prostrate on the dewy ground,
He pour'd his spirit in a flood of prayer,
Bewail'd his ancient crime with self-despair,
And claim'd the pledge of reconciling grace,
The promised Seed, the Saviour of his race.
Wrestling with God, as Nature's vigour fail'd,
His faith grew stronger and his plea prevail'd;
The prayer from agony to rapture rose,
And sweet as Angel accents fell the close.
I stood to greet him; when he raised his head,
Divine expression o'er his visage spread,
His presence was so saintly to behold,
He seem'd in sinless Paradise

grown old.'

PP. 74-77.

We are tempted to make room for the concluding part of the description of the death of Adam. What in point of poetical merit, may be the exact quality or degree of excellence to

which this passage rises, we confess ourselves unable, after repeated perusal, coolly to determine. In the whole range of poetry, we know but very little of so powerfully impressive, of so deeply affecting a character. Its beauty and pathos, however, can be adequately felt by those only whose dispositions of heart accord with the expression of feeling which the Parable' puts into the mouth of the first transgressor.

1

"_"O ye, that shudder at this awful strife,
This wrestling agony of Death and Life,
Think not that He, on whom my soul is cast,
Will leave me thus forsaken to the last;
Nature's infirmity alone you see;
My chains are breaking, I shall soon be free;
Though firm in God the Spirit holds her trust,
The flesh is frail, and trembles into dust.
Horror and anguish seize me;-'tis the hour
Of darkness, and I mourn beneath its power;
The Tempter plies me with his direst art,
I feel the Serpent coiling round my heart,
He stirs the wound he once inflicted there,
Instills the deadening poison of despair,
Belies the truth of God's delaying grace,
And bids me curse my Maker to his face.
-I will not curse Him, though his grace delay;
I will not cease to trust Him, though he slay;
Full on his promised mercy I rely,

For God hath spoken,-God, who cannot lie.
-THOU, of my faith the Author and the End!
Mine early, late, and everlasting Friend!
The joy, that once thy presence gave, restore
Ere I am summon'd hence, and seen no more:
Down to the dust returns this earthly frame,
Receive my Spirit, Lord! from whom it came;
Rebuke the Tempter, shew thy power to save,
O let thy glory light me to the grave,

That these, who witness my departing breath,
May learn to triumph in the grasp of Death."

He closed his eye-lids with a tranquil smile,
And seem'd to rest in silent prayer awhile:
Around his couch with filial awe we kneel'd,
When suddenly a light from heaven reveal'd
A Spirit, that stood within the unopen'd door ;-
The sword of God in his right hand he bore;
His countenance was lightning, and his vest
Like snow at sun-rise on the mountain's crest;
Yet so benignly beautiful his form,
His presence still'd the fury of the storm;
At once the winds retire, the waters cease;
His look was love, his salutation "Peace!"