had been published before the "Lay-of "the Last Minstrel," it might perhaps have taken the place of that poem in the opinion of the public: as it is, we apprehend that there may be readers who will discern in this Poem more art, than in the former; and will imagine that what it gains in dignity, it loses in ease. It is less sprightly, and less fanciful, but it is more heroic, and more stately.

We confess, that we regret, the dreadful death of Constance, whose attachment merits a better return from Marmion, even while we acknowledge that her transgressions deserve adequate punishment. In quitting her convent she sinned against duty and decorum, against modesty and sanctity; but, it does not appear, whether her seclusion was forced, or voluntary. We cannot help wishing that some of the darker shades of her guilt had been softened, and that a less terrible fate might have been allotted to her with justice.

A hero who is all perfection,

A faultless monster which the world ne'er saw, will never be imagined or adopted by a poet of genius; but the disparagements of that character which is to raise our sympathy, should be rather defects than crimes. That conduct which demands the axe of the executioner, is too lightly punished by undistinguished sufferings; the common fate of all, or of many, is no just retribution for uncommon guilt. That criminals of the deepest dye have exhibited striking marks of heroism, we allow, but that it would be judicious to select such an one for the hero of a digified poem, we deny. We feel more resentment and indignation against forgery and the evils it induces, than compassion for the pravity by which it has been committed. Open enmity, may be 'come an honest and a respectable foe, but the dark arts of insidious malevolence, are shocking to upright minds. The balance of opinion ceases to vibrate, which vibration marks our tremulous sympathy, when guilt not incident to general nature, is thrown into the scale of a character, whatever be its merits. We, therefore, could have wished, the English knight had exhibited failings, not so abhorrent to virtue, and that bis excellencies had been Counterbalanced by weakness rather than by wickedness.

Mr. Scott professes,

Not to rhyme to that dull elf, Who cannot image to himself, That all through Flodden's dismal night Wilton was foremost in the fight, That when brave Surrey's steed was slain, "Twas Wilton mounted him again; 'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hew'd, Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood: Un-named by Hollinshed or Hall, He was the living soul of allYet we cannot help thinking, that, as he was to be the prosperous character of the piece, Wilton might have met the eye more prominently; his previous history might have been more developed, and his original connexion with Clara (which, no doubt, had, according to rule, some. thing extraordinary for its basis) might have increased our interest for him, and for her, too. We know too little of his real history, to judge of his merits. We might have learned his character more fully from admissions of Marmion himself, or even from the Abbess, by a few additional stanzas, with scarcely any perceptible digression.-To point out specks in a work of merit is invidious; yet, when a few strokes with the pen may amend them, it is due to justice. The speech of the host, in which he describes the appearance of the "wizard strange," is sufficiently learned for Mr. Scott himself, and therefore too learned for this character: his mention of Pharaoh's Magi,"--his allusion to the wizard's zone,

66

A royal city, tower, and spire, Reddened the midnight sky with fire; And shouting crews her navy bore Triumphant to the vietor shore.

After hinting at these trifles, we cheerfully transcribe some of those beautiful passages which distinguish this poem our readers will not expect any connexion in them, and we shall not enlarge in our remarks.

After a song of exquisite taste, sung by one of his attendants, that brought his guilt to mind, our poet describes its effects on Marmion, adding,

High minds, of native pride aud force,
Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse!
Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have,
Thou art the torturer of the brave;
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel
Their minds to bear the wounds they feel,
Even while they writhe beneath the smart
Of civil conflict in the heart.

For soon Lord Marmion raised his head,
And smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said

:

Is it not strange, that, as ye sung,
Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung,
Such as in nunneries they toll
For some departing sister's soul?

Say, what may this portend?
Then first the Palmer silence broke,
(The live-long day he had not spoke);

"The death of a dear friend."

Marmion, whose steady heart and eye
Ne'er chang'd in worst extremity;
Marmion, whose soul could scarcely brook,
E'en from his king, a haughty look ;
Whose accent of command controul'd
In camps the boldest of the bold
Thought, look, and utterance fail'd him now,
Fall'n was his glance, and flush'd his brow.
For, either in the tone,
Or something in the Palmer's look,
So full upon his conscience strook,
That answer he found none.
Thus, oft it haps, that when within
They shrink at sense of secret sin,

A feather daunts the brave;
A fool's wild speech confounds the wise,
And proudest princes vail their eyes

Before their meanest slave.

Mr. Scott's delineation of the Highlanders is poetic, and to a considerable degree new; a few words, describing the mode of life of some of them, their mar ner of being let down over the rocks for the purpose of bird-catching, with a few other well-selected fearful particulars,

trait.

Next Marmion marked the Celtic race,
Of different language, form, and face,
A various race of man;
Just then the chiefs their tribes array'd,
And wild and garish semblance made;
The chequer'd trews and belted plaid,
And varying notes the war-pipes bray'd
To every varying clan.

Wild through their red or sable hair
Look'd out their eyes with savage stare
On Marmion as he pass'd:

Their legs above the knee were bare;
Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare,
And hardened to the blast;

Of taller race the chiefs they own
Were by the eagle's plumage known;
The hunted red-deer's undress'd hide
Their hairy buskins well supplied;
The graceful bonnet decked their head;
Back from their shoulders hung the plaid;
A broadsword of unwieldly length;
A dagger proved for edge and strength;

A studded targe they wore,
And quivers, bows, and shafts,-but, O!
Short was the shaft, and weak the bow,
To that which England bore.
The Isles-men carried on their backs
The ancient Danish battle-axe.
They raised a wild and wondering cry,
As with his guide rode Marmion by.
Loud were the clamouring tongues, as when
The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen,
And, with their cries discordant mixed,
Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt.

The incidental meeting of Clara and her lover, Wilton, with her assistance in the ceremony of knighting him, is well imagined; and poetically expressed; but it seems rather strange, that the valets should recognize the palmer when clad in armour, though he declares that

Living eye could never guess

De Wilton in his l'almer's dress;
For now that sable slough is shed,
And trimmed my shaggy beard and head,
I scarcely know me in the glass.

Necessity has obliged the poet to trespass in this circumstance, as Marmion would otherwise have wanted a clue to unravel more mysteries than one.

The following passage has struck us a peculiarly beautiful. The dying Marmion exclaims

-Is there none

Of all my halls have nurst, Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring Of blessed water from the spring,

To slake my dying thirst

O, woman! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen
made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel, thou!-
Scarce were the piteous accents said,
When, with the baron's casque, the maid
To the nigh streamlet ran :
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears;
The plaintive voice alone she hears,

Sees but the dying man.
She stooped her by the runnel's side,

But in abhorrence backward drew,
For, oozing from the mountain's side,
Where raged the war, a dark red tide

Was curdling in the streamlet blue.
Where shall she turn!-behold her mark
A little fountain-cell,

Where water, clear as diamond spark,
In a stone bason fell.

Above, some half worn letters say,
"Drink.wsary.pilgrim.drink.and.pray.
for the kind.soul.of. Sybil. Grzy.

Who.built.this.cross.and.welt."
She filled the helm, and back she hied,
And with surprize and joy espied

A monk supporting Marmion's head;
A pious inan, whom duty brought
To dubious verge of battle fought,

To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. Mr. Scott has omitted magic in this poem, yet it has its presages, omens, and unaccountable informations: they are, however, no more than the supposed time of the poem fully warrants. From these specimens our readers will form a judgment on Marmion. It is animated, vigorous, and expressive; it contains touches of exquisite nature, and delightful art. That some variations might have improved it, in our opinion, we frankly avow, bat such as it is, it will be read and admired, by minds capable of poetical feeling.

We have already said, that the introduction to each canto interrupts the main story: yet these bave their beauties, too. They describe generally domestic scenes of modern times; but we select for our specimen, the bard's recollection of Christmas.

And well our Christian sires of old

Loved, when the year its course had rolled,
And brought blithe Christmass back again,
With all his hospitable train.
Domestic and religious rite
Gave honour to the holy night:
On Christmass eve the bells were rung;
On Christmass eve the mass was sung ;
That only night, in all the year,
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.

The damsel donned her kirtle sheen;
The hall was dressed with holly green;
Forth to the wood did merry men go,
To gather in the misletoe.
Then opened wide the baron's hall
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;
Power laid his rod of rule aside,
And ceremony doffed his pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner chuse;
The lord, underogating, share
The vulgar game of post and pair."
All hailed with uncontrolled delight,
And general voice, the happy night,
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of Salvation down.

The fire with well-dried logs supplied,. Went, roaring up the chimney wide; The huge hall table's oaken face, Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn, By old blue-coated serving-man; Then the grin boars-head frowned on high, Crested with bays and rosemary. Well can the green-garbed ranger tell, How, when, and where, the monster fell; What dogs before his death he tore, And all the baiting of the boar; While round the merry wassel bowl, Garnished with ribbons, blithe did trow). There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by Plumb-porridge stood, and Christmas pye; Nor failed old Scotland to produce, At such high tide, her savoury goose. Then came the merry masquers in, And carols roared with blithesome din ; If unmelodious was the song, It was a hearty note, and strong. Who lists may in their mumming see Traces of aucient mystery; White shirts supplied the masquerade, And smutted cheeks the visor made; But, O! what masquers richly dight. Can boast of bosoms half so fight! England was merry England, when Old Christinas brought his sports again. 'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale; 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year.

Mr. S. illustrates, in this description his notes, by the same extract from Ben Johnson's Masque of Christmas, as we gave in Panorama, Vol. III. p. 801. We are always obliged by this gentleman's notes. They usually contain information, well deserving to be known; and they lustrate ancient usages, and still more antient superstitions, several of which are local, only, to great advantage. We should gladly transcribe some of them, had we

not already exceeded our usual limits. But we cannot resist the temptation of adding

an instance which confirms an historical fact, while it shews that Mr. Douce's sword [Panorama, vol. IV. p. 51,] is not a solitary instance of good fortune.

A very antient sword, in the possession of Lord Douglas, bears, among a great deal of flourishing, two hands pointing to a heart, which is placed betwixt them, and the date 1329, being the year in which Bruce charged the Good Lord Douglas to carry his heart to the Holy Land. The following lines (the first conplet of which is quoted by Godscroft as a popular saying in his time) are inscribed

around the emblem:

The Iniquity of Witchcraft, censured and exposed. being the substance of two Sermons delivered at Warley, near Halifax, Yorkshire. By T. Hawkins. Price 6d. Holden and Dawson, Halifax, 1808. we read the

IT is so long since "Dæmonologie" of King James, or the Discovery of Witchcraft," by Reginald Scott, that we had almost forgot that ever such characters as witches and wizards had existed among us. We find, however, by Mr. H. that credulity still yields a revenue to impostors; and that the man who has lately set up this diabolical profession at Lhas sometimes thirty people at a time, waiting on him." That he does more harm than good will easily be believed. The author appears to be a well meaning man; and a scriptural preacher: directly, therefore, as we have heard that his discourses have produced their intended effect, we shall recommend a visit to Warley, near Halifax, to certain persons, who by affecting to be wiser than becomes them, render themselves liable to suspicion of mysterious communications.

Le Siége de la Rochelle, ou Conscience et Malheur. Roman, par Mme de Genlis. 4 vols. 12mo. price 12s. Paris, 1808. Dulan and Co. London.

ANOTHER production from the proliftc pen of Mme. de Genlis. To display the firmness of true piety under affliction is the object, and forms the principal trait of this romauce, which is a most impressive contrast to the wretched trash daily issuing from our own novel manufactories, to the disgrace of their authors and their supporters.

We select Mme.

de Genlis's own words, in order that our readers may be fully informed of her real intent; premising, that she previously alludes to those publications which have abounded in France in consequence of the revolutionray madness of the philosophers.

On a peint le fanatisme, c'est-à-dire un zèle extravagant et sanguinaire, beaucoup plus réprouvé par l'évangile que par la seule sagesse humaine; on a peint l'exaltation de toutes les passions dangereuses: pour moi, j'ai voulu peindre, dans cet ouvrage, la seule exaltation qui ne puisse produire des excès nuisibles aux autres et à soi-même, la seule qui soit toujours accompagnée d'une invariable modération de principes, la seule qui laisse subsister ensemble ce qui, dans toutes les autres, se détruit mutuellement: la douceur et l'énergie, l'enthousiasme et la raison, l'ardeur passionnée et la constance. J'ai voulu peindre enfin l'exaltation de la véritable piété. J'ai réfléchi a l'utilité dont elle pouvoit être aux autres et à soi-même, dans toutes les situations de la vie et dans l'abîme le plus profond du malheur; et c'est uniquele plan de ce roman. ment d'après cette recherche que j'ai composé

A translation of this interesting work by Mr. Dallas is, we understand, now in the press, and will soon appear.