to the human understanding, it will perhaps be when they are described in the suitable language of poetry; his power and greatness, the terror of his judgments, and the wisdom of his counsels appear before us in a manner not wholly unworthy of them, when they are heightened and adorned by all the magnificence of poetic figure; and how beautiful are the love, and tender compassion, and universal benevolence of the Most High, when the sweetness of the verse recommends them to the ear, and the beauty of the images, under which they are delineated, charms and captivates the mind. The inspired writers well knew the excellence of this art when they employed it in all the varieties of Sacred Song; and perhaps there is no loss so great in respect of language, as that by which we unhappily are deprived of nearly all notion of the rules and harmony of Hebrew poetry. It is not surprising that the thoughts of many a devout heart have vented themselves in sacred verse. The wonder rather is that many from whom we might confidently have anticipated succes have disappointed expectation. We have chiefly in our view the simpler and humbler kinds of poetry. The case is much the same with the composition of sacred music. Some years ago several of the most eminent masters of the art in this country were engaged in the composition of Psalm tunes; and (as we have been informed) with so little success, that the only good tune was produced by one, who had been in the habit of composing for the stage. This was probably owing to the simplicity which he had acquired; and the difficulty of uniting dignity with simplicity will account for the failure in each art. It is not that the sacred fountains are exhausted, or any of the smaller streams dried up; it is not that invention has lost its power, or piety any of its charms: but some are apt to aim too high, and attempt too much; and others, by wishing to be simple, become low and insipid, and even vulgar. In these respects we yield greatly to those who have gone before us. Luther's Hymn and the 100th Psalm are unrivalled: and though we must not venture to bestow high praise on the first who tried their skill in poetical composition (for the name of Sternhold is unhappily and unjustly united with the idea of all that is homely and uncouth) yet we are very much disposed to think, that those who would give us a good poetical translation of the Psalms must take the course, and follow (under happier auspices) the steps of that writer in his uncommon fidelity, and in the dignified simplicity of his best passages. But let us not be supposed to fix unmerited blame on the various attempts that have been made by good and pious persons without number in sacred poetry. Many of them are highly excellent, and we feel much indebted to Mr. Bowdler for the selection which he has made in the volumes before us, which we could wish to see in the hands of every young person, as they are very frequently in our own. In these volumes there are many poems and extracts from poems, which have been frequently published, some which are universally known, some which, though never printed, have been shewn in manuscript among the friends of the authors, and some of considerable merit, which are entirely new to us. The contents are divided under several heads, and comprise a very wide range, from the simple Hymn and lowly Elegy, to the towering Ode. It may, perhaps, admit of doubt, whether it was wise to unite so many degrees in one publication. Mr. Bowdler intends his work chiefly for the young, and these soon advance from step to step. He who has heard one of his little ones repeat the "Hymn for a Child," will never wish to see it erased; and every parent and teacher knows how rapidly, and with how much delight, the pupil goes forward, and climbs the hill, whose sides are adorned with poetic flowers. Mr. Bowdler has, moreover, brought into one volume, in a separate edition those poems, which are most adapted for the young, omitting those in foreign languages, and some pieces less calculated for general use. Our readers will expect to see some extracts from these volumes, and we shall lay a few before them, making choice of such as have not been before published. Several of these will be found under the most of the heads into which the work is divided. The Hymns, which occupy the first division are for the most part such as are well known. There are some, however, which have never appeared in print, The following is probably new to our readers. By Thy days of sore distress. "By the sacred griefs that wept "By Thine hour of dire despair, By the cross, the nail, the thorn, "By Thy deep expiring groan, Listen, listen to the cry Of our solemn Litany!" Vol. I. P. 37. The interest excited by the sufferings and decease of the amiable Princess, who is said to have composed the following lines, will excite some curiosity, and (we should hope) a better feeling than curiosity in our readers. "Unthinking, idle, wild, and young, I laughed, and talked, and danced, and sung; "But when the days of trial came, When sickness shook this trembling frame, When folly's gay pursuits were o'er, It then occurred, how sad 'twould be Were this world only made for me!" Vol. I. P. 104. In the following page is an elegy on Mr. Dawson, which reminds us greatly of Mason and Gray, and is not unworthy of either. A little poem on the "Ruins of Dunkswell Abbey," is by the hand of no common writer, and we shall quote the two first stanzas, not being able to afford room for more. "Blest be the power, by Heaven's own flame inspired, ; Till now released, she claims her native throne, And gilds th' awakening world with radiance all her own. "O sacred source of sweet celestial peace! From age to age in darksome cells confined! Among the Odes is one of no common merit, by J. Sargent, Esq. on the Fall of Babylon, taken from the xivth chapter of Isaiah. The sublimity of the original is such as perhaps to make every imitation of it appear to disadvantage, we are unwilling to have a single passage lengthened, or a new image or idea introduced; and those who are well acquainted with Bishop Lowth's Alcaic Ode will find it difficult to be satisfied with any that may come after. Yet Mr. Sargent has brought to the subject so correct a taste, and has so happily applied the form of the noblest classical model, that we own ourselves abundantly gratified, and should be happy if our limits would allow of our transferring it to these pages. In a small collection of Epitaphs are two or three, which are new to us, and worthy of insertion; but upon this head every reader perhaps has some little favourites, which he would scarce wish to see excelled. The Fables and Tales seem rather thrown together than arranged, and the name of Southey we observe affixed to one which does not belong to him. These are succeeded by "Extracts from some of the most admired Poets." And here we shall present our readers with two stanzas from a Hymn of Spenser's, under the apprehension that we shall scarce be deviating from our proposal of quoting only what is new to them. We wish our quotation may induce them to refer to the original copy of his " Hymns on heavenly Love and Beauty." "Humbled with fear and awful reverence, Throw thyself down, with trembling innocence, "But lowly fall before His mercy-seat, Close covered with the LAMB's integrity More firm and durable than steel or brass, Or the hard diamond, which them both doth pass." Among some Miscellaneous Poems is a copy of verses by the present Bishop Jebb, which we will not injure by mutilation; but they bear a plesing testimony to the elegance of their author's mind, as well as to his piety. There is a sober melancholy grace thrown over the opening, and indeed the whole, of the "Magdalen's Petition," by the Rev. John Marriott, which is very striking. It is followed by some excellent "Lines found in the Skeleton Case at the Royal Academy." The next poem is nameless, but worthy of some exalted name. It is styled the "Mirror of Fancy," and consists of a description of several graces and virtues, which successively make their appearance in a glass which Fancy presents to the eyes of the poet. We shall quote the stanzas on "Sensibility," chiefly for the sake of the last. "Next Sensibility, lov'd maid, appear'd; Of tears and smiles she had an endless store, And now at Sorrow's words her eyes ran o'er; Thus each by turns her bosom did divide, And now with bliss it thrill'd, and now with grief it sigh'd, "A mother here embrac'd her long-lost child ;— The raptur'd damsel felt a mother's bliss! There a sad widow, with affliction wild, |