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of men, that which Mr. Southey is now undergoing, is perhaps among the bitterest. In the grave of an only son, no one can say how many of the dearest hopes, the tenderest associations, the purest pleasures lie buried for ever. The feeling that was interwoven with all reviving images of our own careless boyhood, and glowing youth ; with all recollections of our growing, and matured love ; and of those most exquisitely happy years of human life, which immediately follow marriage; with all schemes of advancement, and all hopes of earthly happiness, to become a tender and a shrinking place in our constitution,-the being to be torn from us, who occupied our most constant cares, who shared our most approved pleasures, for whose improvement love found a place, even in our most absolute relaxations, and whose presence did not interrupt the solitude of the loneliest ramble; for whose instruction we studied, for whose ease and quiet we watched, and toiled; whose hand was to reap the harvest of our most anxious labours, and who was to continue upon the earth the name, which, if we kept unsullied for our own, for his sake partly we strove to render illustrious; whose duty we looked to as a solace in the decline of life, and whose hands we prayed might close our eyes on leaving it—this is, indeed, a trial, which unaided humanity could not fitly bear. But if Mr. Southey is to be read in his writings, at this moment he is not an unsupported man; all human praise at such a time falls dead and flat upon the ear, and human consolation is but too feeble against such a sorrow; but he stands in need of neither, whose hope is placed where it should be, and whose faith is practical in the promises of a Christian Heaven.

We return to our subject, from which it will be thought, we fear, that we have rambled too widely. The Pilgrimage is divided into two parts; the first under the titles of Flanders, Brussels, the field of Battle, and the Scene of War, details the journey of the travellers, with the reflections excited by what they saw and heard ; the second is a Vision, and under the less significant names of the Tower, the Evil Prophet, the Sacred Mountain, and the Hopes of Man, enters fully into the promises and delusions of the French Revolution, and the probable consequences to the world, and especially to England, of the overthrow of the gigantic power which had grown out of it. This concise analysis, we conceive, will explaiu and justify much of what we advanced in the commencement of this Article; it is evident, that much of the first part, if it did not transgress all bounds of correct taste, and good sense, must from the very nature of the subject appear to many minds languid and prosaic; and though a greater number will probably be interested by the

dialogue VOL. VI. JULY, 1816.

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dialogue and reasonings of the second, yet allegory, especially if of a scriptural complection, is an appalling sound for most ears, and we are prepared for many ingenious waggeries, by way of quotation from the Pilgrim's Progress.

Indeed, however disposed to see the favourable side of all the works of true genius, we confess we see no beauty in such pas. sages as follow.

“ Huge-timbered bridges o'er the passage lay,
Which wheeled aside, and gave us easy way.

XIV.
“ Four horses aided by the favouring breeze

Drew our gay vessel, slow, and sleek, and large:
Crack

goes the whip, the steersman at his ease Directs the way and steady went the barge." P. 24. "Asséhe for water and for cakes renown'd." P. 39. We know the argunients that may be advanced, and the authorities that may be urged in favour of such minuteness in the detail, and such unscrupulous admission of all subjects into poetry. The precedents to which all bend, the Iliad and the Odyssey are, undoubtedly full of such passages, but they appear to us to have no weight, unless it can be proved that Homer writing at this day, and in such a state of civilization, would have still introduced them. For our own parts we cer. tainly believe that he would have most studiously avoided them; when it was honour and precedence to have the first and largest slice, and the most unmeasured and unmixed tankard, there nright be reasons for minutely detailing a dinner which do not now exist. If Mr. Southey should say, that in the present instance nothing more was intended than a journal in verse, and that it was pro. posed here and there to excite a ludicrous image, the argument, indeed, is no longer applicable to the present case; but we shculd be compelled to say, that he had chosen a strange mode

“ To give a voice to joy, and in my lays

Exalt a nation's hymn of gratitude,

And blazon forth in song that day's renown." P. 20.
Yet Mr. Southey amidst such passages as those which we

. We hate verbal particularity in criticism ; but we must strenuously object to such additions to a compleat picture, as the underscored words present. What possible inducement, but that of a convenient rhyme, could there be for transforming the gay vessel of the seconi, into the steady barge of the fourth line of this stanza.

blame,

blame, has sometimes thrown in slight touches of redeeming beauty, which are in his very best manner.

What can be sweeter than the following incident, which closes an account of the bustle and noise of embarking in the Trekschuit?

“ All disregardant of the Babel sound,

A swan kept oaring near, with upraised eye--
A beauteous pensioner, who daily found

The bounty of such casual company :
Nor did she leave us till the bell was rung,

And slowly we our watery way begun.” P. 30. Nothing can be happier than the relief afforded to a scene of noise and dirt, and discomfort, by the introduction of this silent, peaceful, and beautiful object-but if our readers employ themselves as often as we do, in the observation of small traits that disclose character, they cannot fail to be pleased in regarding it as one instance of that happy power, so peculiarly poetic, of seizing, and, as it were, appropriating in every combination of circumstances, the minutest accident of grace or beauty.

Mr. Southey's descriptive powers, when he introduces the detail of natural scenery, have long been acknowledged; they implied of course, and were built upon his warm and just feeling of natural beauties. We were much struck with this in the passage which we will next present to our readers ; commonplace and consentional admirers of nature would be ashamed to express any pleasure at scenes so artificial; as many of those through which his route lay; wildness, grandeur, and seclusion, contain all their heads of picturesque beauty--yet Mr. Southey fresh from the mountains and lakes of Cumberland, found charms in a Flemish landscape, and we can bear lim testimony in the pleasure we experienced, when fresh from the wildest parts of ihe Alps, in the flat and fertile plains of Lombardy.

“ My lot hath lain in scenes sublime and rude,

Where still devoutly I have served and sought
The power divine which dwells in Solitude.

In boyhood was I wont, with rapture fraught
Amid those rocks and woods to wander free
Where Avon hastens to the Severn Sea.
“ In Cintra, also, have I dwelt ere while

That earthly Eden, and have seen at eve
The sea-mists, gathering round its mountain pile

Whelm with their billows all below, but leave
One pinnacle sole seen, whereon it stood
Like the Ark on Ararat, above the flood.
“ And now am I a Cumbrian mountaineer ;
Their wintry garment of unsullied snow

The

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The mountains have put on, the heavens are clear,

And you dark lake spreads silently below :
Who sees them only in their summer hour,
Sees but their beauties half, and knows not half their power.
“ Yet hath the Flemish scene a charm for me,

That soothes and wins upon the willing heart;
7 hough all is level as the sleeping sea,

A natural beauty springs from perfect art.
And something more than pleasure tills the breast
To see how well-directed toil is blest." P. 29.

We had intended to notice and extract several passages in addition to those already given, from the First Part, but our limits admonish us to draw to a close. But we cannot forbear pointing out to our readers attention, the description of Brussels, and the wounded soldiers convalescent there, the lines on Hougoumont, and the very lively commemmoration of the Poet's own fellow-travellers.

We pass on to the consideration of the Second Part of the Poem, or the Vision. This is supposed to be the result of all the author bad seen in lois journey, operating upon bis mind in the hours of bodily sleep. There is something almost sublime in the manner in which it opens; the slow yet unimpeded Jhythm, the solemy and unadorned language suit admirably with the ideas; and the general effect is the gloomy, helpless, and uncertain desolateness which we must all have been conscious of in our dreams.

“ I thought upon these things in solitude,

And mused upon them in the silent night:
The open graves, the recent scene of blood

Were present to the soul's creative sight;
These mournful images my mind possest,
And mingle with the visions of my rest.
“ Methought that I was travelling o'er a plain,

Whose limits far beyond all reach of sense
The aching anxious sight explor'd in vain,

How I came there I could not tell, nor whence,
Nor where my melancholy journey lay,
Only that soon the night would close upon my way.
“ Behind me was a dolorous dreary scene

With huge and mouldering ruins widely spread,
Wastes which had whilome fertile regions been,

Tombs which had lost all record of the dead;
And where the dim horizon seemed to close
Far off the gloomy Pyramids arose.

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“ Full fain would I have known what lay before,

But lifted there in vain my mortal eye ;
That point with cloud and mist was covered o'er,

As though the earth were mingled with the sky.
Yet thither as some power unseen impell’d,

My blind involuntary way I held.” P. 103. Pursuing his journey through this desolate scene, the Poet hears bis name pronounced, and is summoned to the top of a lofty tower. He obeys the summons; the tower whose foondations were on sand, and surrounded with rubbish, grows firmer and sairer as he ascends; and at the top he meets an aged man, who offers him all knowledge necessary for his journey. This personage is Earth Born Wisdom; he is very well drawn, and the answer to the first question of his ansious scholar,

“ From whence I came, and whither niust I go," is admirably expressed.

“ Art thou then one who would his mind perplex

With knowledge bootless even if attained ?
Fond man, he answered-wherefore shouldst thou vex

Thy heart with seeking what may not be gained.
Regard not what has been, nor what may be,
O child of Earth, this now is all that toucheth thee.
“ He who performs the journey of to-day,

Cares not if yesterday were shower or sun,
To-morrow let the heavens be what they may,

And what recks he? his wayfare will be done.
Heedless of what hereafter may befall,

Live whilst thou livest-for this life is all.” P. 109. We have not time to pursue an excellent argument most poetically and spiritedly maintained; the author seems to have had fresh in his mind the beautiful scene between the Red Cross Knight and Despair, in the first book of the Fairy Queen, a scene which for richness of colouring, for maintenance of character, for suitableness in the lone of language and measure to the subject, has never, we will venture to say, been surpassed in any language *. Indeed if we were called upon to cite an in

stance

* It is hardly worth observing in the writings of a man so gifted as Mr. Southey, but he appears to us in the present Poem to have somewhat trespassed upon the liberty, to a certain extent allowa able, of borrowing expressions, and even whole lines from his predecessors. We utterly disclaim all intention of insinuating against him the charge of intentional concealment; but we wish

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