At page 153: Lo! phantom clouds come floating by the moon, Prophetic life a woven mystery seems Till PAST AND FUTURE THROUGH OUR BEING MELT!!! This melting of the "past and future" through our being, reminds us of another similarly beautiful introduction of the "past and present," at p. 34, where Mr. Montgomery suddenly exclaims, But see! the clouds are born! they break-expand! And sun-shine, welcom'd by each ancient pile, This Irish meeting of two personages who can never by any possibility come in sight of each other, is quite original. "How do you do Past?" quoth Present. Pretty well, thank you Present," replies Past." Pray, quoth Present, "how the devil has it chanced that we two have come together? "Faith," says Past, "I suppose there is an end of the Future, which you know was always running before us, and prevented me from overtaking you, though I have been trying at it ever since the first hour you were born." We flatter ourselves this imaginary dialogue between the parties may be naturally enough supposed to have taken place, when they met to smile." At page 155, Mr. Montgomery tells us, that "in the world" there are energies of life which ferment Through the mighty womb of space At page 159, he describes how, when "school free," he used to " When the moon-shine lay In sleep-like beauty on the brow of day, Or musing wander'd, ere the hectic morn, ope his lattice," Your true poet never clothes plain ideas in plain words. Hence, Mr. Montgomery, instead of saying he took a walk to see the sun rise, plays the doctor with the morning by giving it a hectic fever, and the midwife with the sun, by watching how beautifully it is born. This is indeed poetry.-(Vide Literary Gazette passim.) It will be sufficient to quote the following passage. What comment could heighten its balderdash? I've stood entranc'd beneath as bright a sun As poets dream hath ever gaz'd upon, In the warm stillness of that WOOING HOUR WHEN SKIES ARE FLOATING WITH SERAPHIC POWER!! The gales expiring in melodious death, The waters hush'd, the woods without a breath And worshipp'd, till dissolving sense, away It is a positive fact, that our printer, who is as shrewd and intelligent a printer as any we know, has put a query opposite these lines in the proof now lying before us! We could not believe we had quoted them correctly, though we pledged our honour that we had! We are much obliged to Mr. Whiting for his care of our reputation; but we are right, much as the assertion may make him stare. But when I look'd, where lay immingled forms THE STONY MARTYR OF A DEAD'NING POWER.-p. 164. We pledge our honour that we have correctly quoted the above from the poemand having done so, we ask the reader what he thinks of the poet? Perhaps, while he is about it, he will also tell us what he thinks of the following: There is a pleasure in a praise deny'd, It feeds a folly, or protects a pride.—p. 169. Of more than midnight, in her darkest view.-p. 176. In one bright depth of uncreated bliss! And dream-like shadows of that world remain, As the pale spirit of departed sun Broods on the waters when the day is done!! From which primeval nature hath been hurl'd, To man's oblivion-tinge the soul within With solemn light, beyond the gloom of sin!!!!—p. 179 Ye midnight heavens! magnificently hung, In ev'ry age by ev'ry poet sung, One parting glance, oh! let my spirit take, Ere dawn-light on your awful beauty break! With what intensity the eye reveres Yon starry legions, when their pomp appears! As tho' the glances centuries have giv'n Since dreams first wander'd o'er the vast of heav'n, Had left a MAGIC where a MYST'RY shone, Enchanting more, the more 'tis gaz'd upon !—p. 180. And thus have we conducted the reader through all the varied beauties of "Oxford, a Poem, by Robert Montgomery of Linc. Coll. Oxon., author of the 'Omnipresence of the Deity,' 'Satan,' &c."-The critic and the poet are fairly at issue. If the passages we have quoted be any thing but what we have described them, the poet triumphs, and the critic falls. If, on the other hand, they are truly described, the critic has succeeded in exposing inflated trash, and the poet must go to the Literary Gazette for consolation. Mr. Montgomery cannot complain that we have dealt unjustly with him; for we have not, like the Literary Gazette, and some other publications, denounced his volume in terms of general condemnation, without supporting our censure by what we consider conclusive evidence. This species of criticism we disdain. Any man can say, just what he chooses. He may declare that St. Paul's stands upon Waterloo Bridge, if it be his pleasure to pronounce so many foolish words. But can he take the persons he tells so, into the Strand, and confirm what he says, by pointing to St. Paul's on Waterloo Bridge? We, too, might say of Milton, or Dryden, or Spenser, or Shakspeare, all we have said of Mr. Robert Montgomery; but where should we find our proofs? And were it our object merely to write abuse and call it criticism, we should have done But as it has been our object to settle the question of Mr. Montgomery's So. poetical pretensions, we felt the only way that object could be accomplished, was by showing the sort of poetry he writes. It is upon this distinction between ourselves and such lumping eulogists as our friend of the L. G., that we rest our claim to the approbation of Mr. Montgomery and his admirers. Of Mr. Montgomery himself we know nothing-in the fullest sense of the word, nothing except as a person most ridiculously lauded. We do not now allude to the Literary Gazette-because every thing is lauded there; or when not, there are always intelligible motives for its dispraise-motives quite distinct from the merits or demerits of the work censured. Being naturally fond of whatever is excellent, we took up Mr. Montgomery's poems, in the hope of finding all those beauties which the small critics of the day had extolled. We read-and stared! Still, we did not question the honesty of the opinions from which we dissented. We had no doubt-nor have we any now-that the majority of those who pronounced Mr. Montgomery a poet-thought him so; for we have known those who maintained that bottled cider was equal to Champagne, and goose-berry wine much better. Well then; leaving our opponents in the full possession of their undoubted right to drink and enjoy their bottled cider and goose-berry wine, we only claim for ourselves the equal right of insisting that whatever they may think, the fact is, neither of those frothy beverages is the celestial juice of the grape. In short, we have analyzed Mr. Montgomery's goose-berry wine, and we have attempted to show that though it bubbles and hisses, and creams, it is but thin, sour, watery stuff, after all. He will, of course, impute this to our not having eaten a dinner at his expense, or some other equally probable cause. Be it so. We cannot quarrel with a man, who when he finds he must tumble, tries to fall as soft as possible. We none of us like to be bumped and bruised, if we can help it. Let Mr. Montgomery, therefore, have all the benefit of his discovery; and go to sleep each night with the bland consciousness, that had he fed his critics with turtle, they would have fed him with praise, and given him his dessert into the bargain. We have now but one remaining duty to perform, and that is, to show how Mr. Montgomery has enriched our language with poetical words and phrases, to be found only in his own incomparable works. What stronger proof can be required that his thoughts tower above those of Milton, Shakspeare, Dryden, &c., than the simple fact, that the language which was sufficiently copious for them, is all too poor and weak for the gigantic energies, the sublime inspirations, of himself? The following catalogue will show that such is the case. We had occasion in our article upon "Titled Authors," to notice the formations of negatives by the addition of less to the primitive word; and we then observed, that if the persons who were addicted to that figure of speech, wished to say a room was unfurnished, a house stood alone, a lady went to her grave unmarried, or a grate was without its usual accompaniments, they would infallibly say, the room was "furnitureless,"-the house, " neighbourless," the lady, "husbandless, and the grate "pokerless, tongsless, and shovelless." Mr. Montgomery revels in these negatives. Ex. Gr. Allow that genius wears a curbless soul.—p. 24. There are who think their stormless life must be.-p. 138. And soundless air more beautiful than sleep.-ib. Here are just two dozen lesses, and we have excluded from the number sundry fathomlesses, noiselesses, &c. &c., because we would not captiously object to any word that may plead good authority for its use. Those we have selected, are pure Montgomeryisms. The next class of words to which our author seems particularly attached, are compounds, formed by the addition of like, for the sake of producing what he considers similes. We can exhibit a tolerable assortment of these commodities. The star-like spirits whose enduring light.—p. 16. 179. Come-this is no bad collection of likes: about two dozen of them too, like so many plums picked out of a Christmas pudding like. The Literary Gazette will say it is "snappish"-like, to gather them thus together. Mr. Montgomery, perhaps, will think it spiteful-like; and the reader may complain of its being tediouslike; but for our own parts, we consider it curious-like to see how ridiculous-like they all look. But far exceeding all, in numerical strength, are the compound words manufactured by Mr. Montgomery, for no other reason that we can discover, than that he did not know where to find better ones. Those day-born graces whose refinement blends.-p. 45. To chaunt noon-hymns where'er a sound career'd.—p. 71. That quicken'd all bright-omen'd dreams inspire.-p. 160. Ascend the Radcliffe's darkly-winding coil (i. e. go up stairs).--p. 33. There silver-voic'd, in many a heav'n-ward note.-p. 37. In wood-hung vales from city murmur free.—p. 68. But if there be, as heav'n-breath'd words relate.-p. 123. Four dozen within two!-exclusively of at least a score of others, which, like the lesses, have some show of authority for their use. Not that we mean to say, all the above are absolutely prohibited, or inadmissible upon principles of good taste. We know too well the force that is sometimes gained by the bold union of expressive words, to convey vigorous thoughts: but we also know, a profusion of such compounds is the unerring sign of a flimsy, vicious, and affected style. We will venture to affirm it would be impossible to collect from the whole works of any one of our classical poets, a third only of the lesses, likes, and compounds, which we have here assembled from a single poem of Robert Montgomery, after giving him the benefit, in each class, of all that had any good authority to plead in their behalf. It is the easiest thing in the world to make these compounds; and many there are who, like Mr. Montgomery, fancy, when they make them, they are giving evidence of fine writing. Suppose, for instance, we wanted to say, "Mr. and Mrs. Gubbins went out to tea with Mr. and Mrs. Snooks, and when they came back they found the servant fast asleep, and the parlour fire out." We could say it after this fashion: "Mr. and Mrs. Gubbins, heart-linked in the love-forged bonds of conjugal felicity, left their peace-hallowed abode, to visit the ever-friendly hearth of the Snookses. There the gaily-circling hours passed in mind-enlivening mirth till the thiefdreading watchman called the hour of ten; and then, with mutually-endearing adieus, they took their leave. Returning home, they found the sleep-o'erpower'd servant locked in the dream-inspiring arms of Morpheus, and the once-cheerfullyblazing fire in the back parlour, black as guilt-concealing night." We know we are exposing ourselves to the imputation of gross vanity by the confession, but we do think that Mr. Montgomery himself has not been more happy in his use of the compounds than we have in ours. However, the reader can judge for himself. Addison, if we remember rightly, enumerates but three words coined by Milton in his Paradise Lost; and one of them (imparadised) Mr. Montgomery has bor |