their genius, which they have bequeathed to mankind as inestimable and enduring legacies of their intellectual greatness and power. FROM these general remarks, we come to a consideration of the topic, as more immediately and more intimately connected with local circumstances. We must commence by observing that the volume of Mr. Derozio is the first instance here of a poetical work, avowedly under the name of an East-Indian, making its welcome appearance among us. It may indeed be hailed as the beginning of a literary era in the history of that rapidly increasing race; and it is hoped that this event will make a suitable impression on that body, instead of being looked upon with envy and jealousy. The difficulty of every undertaking, it must be confessed, is felt chiefly in the outset; but when progress has once been made, success appears comparatively easy of attainment. But whatever improvement is, and may yet be effected, and whatever strides have been, or may yet be made in the various ramifications of general literature and science by the East-Indians, ages must roll away, before they can hope to rival the learning, and the institutions of other nations. In the particular department of poetry, much has been written and published by them; but whatever may be its intrinsic character, it is as yet considerably below that high and unexceptionable standard, which obtains in England; for that, which had hitherto come under our observation, can never be affirmed to have aspired to that noble and exalted distinction, though of late nearer approaches have been made towards it. In amatory, lyrical and descriptive poetry, Indian writers have made a very respectable proficiency; and this is a degree of praise, to which they are fairly and fully entitled. Here however a stand, seems to be made, without any immediate prospect of advancement beyond this limit; and great and unceasing exertions will be found requisite, to enable them to reach that point of excellence, at which we would wish them to arrive. We have few specimens, indeed, if any, of this description of poetry belonging to them: but nothing of a didactic; nothing of a moral; nothing of a sacred nature; leaving the pastoral and epic entirely out of the question. REGARDING the native character of East-Indian poetry, we may venture to hazard the assertion, that there is a great deal of flimsiness and trifling perceptible in it; while the only redeeming qualities to be discovered in it consist of sounding epithets, glittering, but not deep, thought and pompous versification. It is usually too highly coloured, without the relief of shading-a requisite, which is capable of imparting a varied and permanent interest to poetry. Poetical thoughts, gorgeously clothed, lose much of their native force and beauty, however much excess of ornament may tend to set them off to appearance, they will not L admit of close examination. Helps of this kind are like a foil to a brilliant; it is like "painting the lily," and "adding another hue to the Rain-bow ;""another perfume to the rose," another ray to the sun, another grace to perfect beauty, another charm to exquisite loveliness: it is like arraying a seraph in splendid habiliments, and decorating him with jewels in the vain hope of superading to the native sweetness and radiance of his heavenly countenance. Helps of this kind in short remind us more of those magnificent and gigantic edifices, struck out of nothingness by a waive of the magician's enchanted rod superb in external shape and even inwardly exhibiting an enamelled aspect; the materials of which are unsubstantial and subject to decay, affording no fearless security; no undisturbed repose; and after all, vanishing into nothing, as suddenly as it sprung up; rather than of those stately and stupendous fabrics of gothic origin, which fear, in proud disdain and mockery, their towering heads to the clouds; the imperishable monuments of human ingenuity and labour; defying alike the fury of the tempest and the ravages of time itself. In looking back to the history of Indian poetry, we shall find, that for the most part, it is not the poetry of intense and powerful feeling and feverish and burning passion, which could communicate a spontaneous glow into the bosom of the reader, and incorporating itself with his sympathies, impress its image on his mind. Perhaps, it would be unjust, as it would be uncandid, wholly to deny that our author's poetry possesses this characteristic feature; it has a portion of it; but not so much as could be desired. ONE prominent peculiarity is apparent in most East-Indian writers, and that is a constant and invariable endeavor to imitate the style, and emulate the excellences of Moore's poetry; while none of them have ever attempted to adopt the style of a Byron, or Walter Scott. This may be owing to a variety of causes. Moore is not so difficult of access; his ease and familiarity are calculated to invite and encourage aspirants after poetic fame; while the rigidity, nervousness and terseness of Byron's diction would seem to check their approach. Moore's charming and playful muse on her "pedestal of airy smiles, and transient tears," rendered doubly fascinating by the graces and enchantments of her fairy form, is ever an object of the intensest admiration and powerful attraction to her votaries; she is regarded with feelings of enthusiasm, and worshipped with the blindness of idolatry; whilst the severer muse of Byron, with a countenance, always distorted by a frown and sullen with vexation and disappointment, creates dismay and consternation wherever she appears. Moore's poetry is the gorgeous iris, whose elysian hues bewitch the imagination, and captivate the senses; that of Byron is the great luminary of day, whose meridian blaze no eye can behold without dizziness; or the vivid lightning, whose glare dazzles the sight, and which carries ruin and death along with it. MR. DEROZIO, however, forms a particular exception to the race of Indian poets, and we do not flatter him, when we say that he is certainly the best of those, of whom we have any knowledge; and that his effusions will be read and admired, when those of his contemporaries are disregarded, and forgotten. ART. VII.-PANTHEA, a Dramatic Sketch.-Original. PERSONS. C. Cyrus. PERSIAN CHORUS. Panthea. CHORUS OF SUSIAN WOMEN. SCENE I. PANTHEA'S TENT. Chorus of Susian Women. Alas! the day or toil, of blood, and woe! For joy and honor-all but life, is lost. Who shall soothe your flowing tears? Like your Heroes gashed and gory! Phæbus saw our gallant numbers, Weep! wives of Susa's vainly valiant Lords! Beauty marshalled valour forth : From the East, and from the North, Confident they scoured the field! Met the hosts with mutual might, Weep Virgins! orphaned maids despoil your beauties: My maidens, spare my heart these bursts of woe, See! I have thrown my Royal Robes aside; ENTER ARASPES. Araspes. Royal Panthea! Susa's beauteous Queen! Panthea. Victory's word must captive feet obey; Chorus. Weep! wives of Susa's vainly valiant Lords! Weep! widoodhood beside the nuptial grave! Maids from your bleeding hearts, let broken words Grieve for the fortune of your Queen-a slave! |