the satirist is always the result of good sense. Nor are the thorns of severe invective unmixed with the flowers of pure poetry. The characters are delineated with strong and lively colouring, and their discriminations are touched with the masterly traces of genuine humour. The versification is equally energetic and elegant, and the fabric of the couplets approaches to the modern standard. It is no inconsiderable proof of a genius predominating over the general taste of an age where every preacher was a punster, to have written verses, where laughter was to be raised, and the reader to be entertained with sallies of pleasantry, without quibbles and conceits."

Warton was a first-rate critic; and we shall not controvert his opinion. Several of the satires are certainly masterpieces of versification; their smoothness being quite astonishing, when the rude state of the English language at the period they were written, is considered. His miscellaneous poems redound no less to his credit: among them are three anthems, the first of which could never have been read by the person [Dr. Johnson] who asserted that, with the exception of Pope's universal prayer, our language could not boast of one fine sacred hymn.

The two first verses are as follow:

Lord, what am I? a worm, dust, vapour, nothing:

What is my life? a dream, a daily dying:

What is my flesh? my soul's uneasy clothing:
What is my time? a minute ever flying:
My time, my flesh, my life, and I;
What are we, Lord, but vanity?

Where am I, Lord? down in a vale of death :
What is my trade? sin, my dear God offending;

My sport sin, too, my stay a puff of breath :
What end of sin? hell's horror never ending:

My way, my trade, sport, stay, and place,
Help to make up my doleful case."

The author's life, written by himself, and appended to this publication, is an amusing and excellent specimen of biography: nothing can be more lively than his description of the outrages and insults which, when Bishop of Norwich, he suffered from the puritanical bigots of the place and its vicinity, at the time when the cry against episcopacy was raised. This ill-usage he experienced, indeed, in his being driven from his palace, and compelled to retire upon a small pension allowed him by parliament, to Heigham, where he died, despised and neglected, on the 8th of September, 1656, aged 82.

Orlando Furioso: Translated into English Verse, from the Italian of Ludovico Ariosto; with Notes. By William Stewart Rose.Vol. II. 9s. 6d. Murray.

ARIOSTO was a man of stupendous genius, and a splendid versifier; and, perhaps, though mad as the pseudo hero of his tale, he deserved a better translator than the present. Harsh and unscannable lines assail us in almost every stanza; but, ne crede nobis crede occulis. The following passage is from the part of the poem in which Malissa

-comes to bid Rugiero beware of the deceitful charms of the transformed Alcina, thus belied:

"That gentle lady who so loves thee, who

Were well deserving love upon thy part;
To whom (unless forgot, thou knowest how true
The tale) thou debtor for thy freedom art,
This ring, which can each magic spell undo,
Sends, for thy succour, and would send her heart,
If, with such virtue fraught, her heart could bring
Thee safely in thy perils, like the ring."

Ariosto excels in descriptions of valour: it is in the noise and press of combat, where the stab and his sword are quickest, and the steed is staggering about with blood-streaming nostrils, that he is most at home. As this rude kind of poetry is much more easy to translate than the delicate and beautiful, we give one of the battle-scenes, where the Paymin host is attacking Orlando; in order that Mr. Rose may have the chance of shining: -

"At once spears, shafts, and swords, corslet bore

By thousands, and as many pierce his shield,
This threatens on one side, and that before,

And those the ponderous mace behind him wield.
But he esteems the craven rout no more,

He, who did never yet to terror yield,

Than hungry wolf in twilight makes account
To what the number in the flock may mount.

"He held unsheathed that thundering sword in hand,
Which, with so many foes, has heaped the plain,
That he who thinks to count the slaughtered band,
Has undertaken hard emprise and vain.

The road ran red, ensanguined by his brand,
And scarce capacious of the many slain;
Fear neither targe nor head-piece good defends,
Where fatal Duvindana's blade descends.

"Nor safety cotton vest nor cloth supply,

In thousand folds about the temples spread;

Nor only groan and lamentation fly

Through air, but shoulder, arm, and severed head.

Death roams the field in strange variety

Of horrid forms, and all inspiring dread;

And

says, For hundreds of my scythes may stand
His Duvindana in Orlando's hand.'

"His ceaseless strokes scarce one the other wait :
Speedily all his foemen are in flight;

And, when before they came at furious rate,
They hoped to swallow quick the single knight.

None is there who, in that unhappy strait,

Stops for his comrade, flying from the fight.
Here one man speeds afoot, and gallops there;
None stays to question if the road be fair."

If our readers cannot say, that Mr. Rose's translation is better than that of Hoole, neither will they pronounce it to be worse. Fairfax, when he made the Jerusalem of Tasso an English poem, should have done the same kind office to the Orlando of Ariosto. Our versifier has affected to adopt Fairfax's style and language. Now, we cannot conceive any thing more absurd, than for a poetic writer of the nineteenth century, to ape the idiom and expressions of the seventeenth. The longer a language exists, the more copious, the more flexible, and, by consequence, the better adapted for verse, does it become.

Yet we allow that a sprinkling of strange or obsolete words not unfrequently helps off bad poetry; since it is the custom of the world to admire what it does not rightly understand: and, most probably, Mr. Rose was aware of this, and built upon it, as too frequently doth even Sir Walter beyond the Tweed, who has the merit of having invented a jargon, neither English, Scotch, nor German; but a mixture of all three, which is of prodigious service to him, inasmuch as it not only, in some degree, enables him to conceal his paucity of original and moral ideas, but likewise to provide rhymes for sundry vexatious words, to which no other poet would know where to find unisonous companions.

Poems on Sacred Subjects. To which are added, several Miscellaneous. By Richard Ryan.-5s. Hatchard and Son.

E

We blame the author of these poems for attempting to new-string the mouldering but majestic harp of Zion: yet we acknowledge that he has succeeded nearly as well as the most illustrious writers who have preceded him in this arduous task. Many of the miscellaneous poems are really beautiful, and abound with pathos and enthusiasm. Which of our readers will not thank us for transcribing

"THE WARRIOR TO HIS PAGE?

"The sad mists of the morning now are rolling far away,

And the clouds, all tinged with light and gold, declare the break of day;
When I have clasped my corslet on, our Hildebrand, and then
Blow hard the bugle at your side, and wake my merry men.

They have fought upon the mountain, and warred upon the flood,
Till every wave that round them rolled was crimson'd with their blood;
And now their brands are bared again, and flash along the glen,
Till rising from their slumbers light, I see my warlike men.
Their plumes are dancing in the wind; the slowly rising sun
Now flings his beam on helm and lance, and brightens every one:
Their battle-song I soon shall hear, their signal word, and then
To yonder close array of foes, I'll lead my fearless men,
The light of day beholds us clad in strong health, proud and bold,
But evening's shadows here will greet our host both stiff and cold;
With faces turn'd to heaven's arch, and brows as stern as when
They fall within their foes' embrace, and die like warring men.
Was it for this the mother press'd her infant to her breast,
And proudly gaz'd and blessed it as sweet it sunk to rest,-
To live in strife and hunt for blood, like some fiend from his den,
Until cut down and massacred by stronger fellow men?

No matter Fate my lot had cast, ere manhood stamp'd my brow;
And should this hour prove my last, I'll shrink not from it now:
A bonny corse perchance I'll be, to stiffen in this glen,

And eagles be my company, and faint and dying men.'

The Birds of Aristophanes. Translated by the Rev. Henry Francis Cary, A.M. 8vo. pp. 179. Taylor and Hessey.

WE are glad to find that the illustrious translator of Dante's Divine Comedy, is still amongst the living; and should have been more glad had he found something upon which better to exercise his talent than the work his version of which now lies on our table. It is, indeed,

highly estimated by schoolmasters; but their esteem is a poor proof of its literary merit. It is written in the purest Greek, and that is all that they praise. The "Birds of Aristophanes" is not, certainly, a pointless, driftless mass of absurdity, as we used to think it in our boyish days; but, whatever the renowned Schlegel may say in its favour, it is the emanation of an overtasked brain, and every one of its acts, or divisions, to be properly understood, must have a long, long argument prefixed to it. Here is a brief view of it in the words of the celebrated critic just alluded to. Two fugitives of the human race fall into the dominion of the birds, who resolve to revenge themselves on them, for the numerous cruelties which they have suffered. The two men contrive to save themselves by convincing the birds of their pre-eminency over all other creatures, and they advise them to collect all their strength in one immense state. The wondrous city, Cloudcuckooburg, is then built above the earth: all sorts of unbidden guests, priests, poets, poetasters, soothsayers, geometers, scribes, and sycophants, endeavour to nestle in the new state, but are driven away. Then gods are appointed, naturally enough, after the image of the birds, as those of men bore a resemblance to themselves: the old gods are excluded from Olympus, so that the odours of sacrifices can no longer reach them. In their emergency, they send an embassy, consisting of the carnivorous Hercules, who, according to the common expression, swears, by Neptune, and a Thracian god who is not very familiar with Greek, but who speaks a kind of mixed jargon: but yet these gods are under the necessity of submitting to the proposed conditions; and the sovereignty of the world remains to the birds.

Australia: with other Poems. By Thomas K. Hervey, Trinity College, Cambridge. 12mo. pp. 141.

THIS small volume contains a variety of poetical effusions, some of which are merely descriptive, others moral, and others, again, didactic or lyrical but the principal of them is that which furnishes the title of the publication. This has for its subject those extensive tracks lately discovered in the Pacific, Indian, and Southern Oceans, and including New Holland, New Guinea, New Britain, and New Ireland, with the New Solomon Isles, and other isles and islets scattered over the Australian seas. The theory respecting a supposed great southern continent, or Terra Australis, that so long prevailed, and that excited the rapacity of the different European states, especially the Spaniards and Portuguese, (speaking in the language of Mr. Hervey's preface,) imparted a consequence to this topic that rendered it worthy of poetical treatment; and, while we admit that "Australia" is pregnant with proofs of its author's thorough knowledge of his subject, we must, in justice both to his genius and judgment, allow that his picture is poetical in its style, and the materials of which it consists, effectively arranged. The whole is illustrated with notes that are both amusing and informing; and the detached pieces are pleasing, if not very novel, in their ideas and imagery; while their style is so smooth and polished, as to manifest considerable skill in the art of producing verbal melody.

Sacred Melodies, preceded by an Admonitory Appeal to Lord Byron : with other small Poems. By Mrs. J. H. R. Mott.-5s. 6d. Westley, Ave-maria Lane.

In spite of the courtesy that is ever due, and that we delight in shewing, to female authors, we cannot play the gallant to Mrs. Mott's muse. This lady's volume forms a collection of rhymic matter, which, pious as we find it, is calculated to do more harm than good. We were chiefly repulsed by the preface. The sacred bulwarks of religion and general morality require no such defender as Mrs. Mott they have withstood every hostile attack. Even the pointed arrows of Voltaire's wit-arrows which humbled at once the giants of superstition-were directed against them in vain. Surely, then, they have not much to fear from the assaults of a poet of less than half the genius of the author of the Henriade.

Teridolin, or the Road to the Iron-foundery.
German of Schiller. By J. P. Collier, Esq.
Engravings in outline, by Henry Moses.-8s.

Translated from the Illustrated with eight Prowett, Strand.

THE graphic ornaments of this work are excellent: we wish we could speak as favourably of the translation,

"The fire, to ash to burn him, double,

That he my sight no more may trouble."

O earth! O heav'n! what hubble-bubble!

Eugenia; a Poem, in Four Cantos. By Mrs. Wolferstan.

Longman.

THIS is a pretty domestic story, which, we have no doubt, will be read with interest. If the poetry be not transcendant, it is, at least, respectable; and if no new ideas are started, we find nothing offensive to morals or religion.

Number I. of Shakspeare, with Notes, original and selected. By Henry Neele, Esq.; and embellished by G. F. Joseph, Esq. A. R. A. -8vo. pp. 80. 2s. 6d. Smith.

MR. NEALE, we presume, by the very title "Shakspeare," under which he produces his edition of "The Bard of Avon," means to extend his publication to the whole series of his acknowledged plays. The piece with which he commences is that fine creation of "Nature's sweetest child," the Tempest. The text, as it stands in the most received editions, is faithfully adhered to; and the sub-margin is enriched with critical notes and explanatory observations from Steevens, Boswell, Henley, Theobald, Malone, Reed, Tollett, Sir John Hawkins, Edwards, Collins, Heath, Mason, and Warburton; to which are. added some judicious remarks by the Editor. The work is neatly printed; and the graphic embellishments, judging from the frontispiece to the present number, will be creditable to the taste and genius of Mr. Joseph.