And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion, Erin, mavournen Erin-go-braugh*!

It

To communicate to our readers a just conception of "The Battle of Hohenlinden," we should be compelled to copy the whole poem. conveys, in grand and fiery language, the sublimest circumstances of a modern battle. The scene itself seems to pass before our eyes in reading the two incomparable stanzas.

'Tis morn! but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun' Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.

The combat deepens !-on ye brave ! That rush to glory, or the grave, Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry.

Highly as we regard the several excellencies of the foregoing poems, we cannot but acknowledge that "Lochiel's Warning" rises superior to them all. And chiefly, with respect to it, do we severely feel the restraint imposed upon us by our limits. It is not doing it justice to praise it in general terms. A poem of so rare a merit has higher pretensions, and lays claim to that admira. tion which can only result from the detailed exposition of its various. beauties; and we believe we only anticipating the decision of the public when we say, that the bard of Gray has at length, perhaps, found

a rival.

are

The sublimity of the following passage, in which the wizard, taunted by Lochiel for dissuading him from venturing to the field of Culloden, foretels his danger, will enable every reader to judge for him

self.

abroad;

But down let him stoop from his havce on high,

Ah! home let him speed; for the spoiler is nigh.

Why flames the far summit. Why shoot to the blast

Those embers, like stars from the firmanent cast?

"Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven

From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven.

Oh, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might,

Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,

Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn;

Return to thy dwelling! all lonely re

more

more poetical account of the second sight than has been ever conceived in prose or poetry, when the gifted seer exclaims,

"Tis the sun-set of life gives me mystical lore,

And coming events cast their shadows before.

On the whole, these Poems are the productions of a very extraordinary young man. And, to use a phrase of the master-critic of our age, "If they be not poetry, we know not where poetry may be found."

CONTENTS.