to execute, or the hardihood to attempt so difficult and appalling a task. Widely different is the case with Mr. Scott-his style of poetry is of all others the most inviting to imitation: the copyist does not stand in need of the slightest knowledge either of books or the world. Suavity of versification, and a romantic border story, are bis principal requisites. Having premised thus much, let us proceed to the consideration of the poems now before us. We do not think that Lord Byron is exhibited in them to the greatest advantage, although many marks of genius are discernible to instance this, we quote the following Poem:

1.

fo When all around grew drear and dark, alá
And reason half withheld her ray-

And hope but shed a dying spark
Which more misled my lonely way;

2.

In that deep midnight of the mind,
And that internal strife of heart,
When dreading to be deemed too kind,
The weak despair--the cold depart;

3.

When fortune changed-and love fled far,
And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast,

Thou wert the solitary star

Which rose and set not to the last.

Oh! blest be thine unbroken light!
That watched me as a seraph's eye,
And stood between me and the night,
For ever shining sweetly nigh.

And when the cloud upon us came,
Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray
Then purer spread its gentle flame,
And dashed the darkness all away.

6.

Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,

And teach it what to brave or brookThere's more in one soft word of thine, Than in the world's defied rebuke.

7.

Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree,

Whose branch unbroke, but gently bent,

Still waves with fond fidelity

Its boughs above a monument.

8.

The winds might rend-the skies might pour, ...But there thou wert-and still wouldst be Devoted in the stormiest hour

To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.

9.

But thou and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall;

For heaven in sunshine will requite,
The kind-and thee the most of all.

221

10.

Then let the ties of baffled love

Be broken-thine will never break; Thy heart can feel but will not move, Thy soul, though soft, will never shake.

11.

And these, when all was lost beside

Were found and still are fixed in theeAnd bearing still a breast so tried,

Earth is no desart-e'en to me.

At page 16 there is a beautiful copy of verses under the title of "Stanzas for Music." The metre appears at first extraordinary and unmusical. This, however, will be no longer the case, if in reading, each line be divided into two, so as to exhibit a regular succession of eights and sixes. We quote one Stanza to exemplify our meaning:

There's not a joy the world can give

Like that it takes away,

When the glow of early thought declines
In feeling's dull decay;

'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush
Alone, which fades so fast,

But the tender bloom of heart is gone,

Ere youth itself be past.

We are sorry to observe at page 21, the republication of a Poem which has a pointed reference to a subject wholly unfit to meet the public eye. The prerogative of public criticism, however unlimited in other cases be its power, cannot be fairly said to extend over the domestic conduct of living characters. By this we would not be understood as asserting, that on no occasion ought the veil which conceals private life to be torn away-but as merely condemning domestic criticism in general as cruel and disgraceful. Against the noble author of the volume now before us, the public has lately taken a most decided partwith what degree of justice or propriety it behoves not us to determine. If the noble Lord be guilty of the offences laid to his charge, no reprehension, whether of a public or private nature, would be an adequate punishment. If he be accused wrongfully, not even

the restoration of his former fame would be a sufficient compensation.We hasten to quit this ungrateful topic, and proceed in our criticism on the remainder of the volume. The next Poem which offers itself to our notice, is an "Ode on the Battle of Waterloo," said, as indeed all the ensuing poems are, to be translated from the French. We wish it had never been published. The sentiments contained in it are mean and revolting in the last degree. What must be thought of the following apostrophe to that arch villain Murat:

"And thou too of the snow-white plume!
Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb,
Better hadst thou still been leading
France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name;

Such as he of Naples wears,

Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little did'st thou deem, when dashing
On thy war horse through the ranks,
Like a stream which burst its banks,
While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,
Shone and shivered fast around thee-

Of the fate at last which found thee:
Was that haughty plume laid low
By a slave's dishonest blow?
Once-as the Moon sways o'er the tide,
It rolled in air, the warrior's guide;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,
The soldier rais'd his seeking eye
To catch that crest's ascendency,-
And as it onward rolling rose,
So moved his heart upon our foes,

There, where death's brief pang was quickest, fol.:
And the battle's wreck lay thickest,
Strew'd beneath the advancing banner,

Of the eagle's burning crest-
(There with thunder-clouds to fan her,
Who could then her wing arrest-
Victory beaming from her breast?)
While the broken line enlarging

The next Poem rises somewhat in the scale of poetry, though not of patriotism. It is the lamentation of a Polish Officer, whom Buonaparte had raised from the ranks, and who in vain solicited permission to accompany his master to St. Helena. The fifth Stanza is the best:

"My chief, my king, my friend adieu!
Never did I droop before;

Never to my sovereign sue,
As his foes I now implore.
All I ask is to divide

Every peril he must brave;
Sharing by the hero's side

His fall, his exile, and his grave.

The two remaining Poems may be despatched in very few words. The Star of the Legion of Honour" can only be said to rank with the "Ode on Waterloo." It vies with it in absurdity and French patriotism. We do not think we could have used a stronger term. "Napoleon's Farewell" is undoubtedly the best of the translations;-we subjoin a single Stanza: