particular rock that issued from the volcano, and to every individual cloud of ashes which fell on the devoted town, a diversified effect in doing the work of ruin. It is very clear that his love of amplification has led him into similar mistakes in the labour which he is now pursuing. Many incidents that are supposed to have happened during the siege of Troy, the hostilities between Æneas and Turnus, and the crusade against Jerusalem,-as told by Homer, Virgil, and Tasso,-we find faintly imitated in the war against Nineveh. To these Mr. Atherstone adds a few of his own invention; he cares not how trivial they may be, provided only that they swell the number of his lines; and we verily believe that he will not reach the catastrophe, until he shall have described every lane and alley, every old man and woman, of the ancient rival of Babylon.

With respect to Mr. Atherstone's versification, we think still, as we have said on a former occasion, that it abounds in echoes, although subdued, of Miltonic song. We have seen many specimens of modern blank verse which are inferior to the best passages in the poem now before us. In his earlier efforts, our author, prompted doubtless by the ambition of his untried wings, was more bombastical, if possible, than Robert Montgomery himself. He literally roared in verse, as if he had been in an intellectual convulsion.

"A meteor, huge
before their eyes

As the full rounded moon,
Bowls-and round the beetling cliff shakes out

Thick corruscations:"

"O'er the coursers' heads

A bulky red rock flew, roaring along

Like cataract, when its tumbled waters boil,

And heave and foam in their deep bed below."

These are but moderate examples of the stormy language in which the gentle Edwin made some of his first essays. But time has laid his chastening hand upon our poet's brow; his tones are not yet quite as silvery as those of Nestor, but they have become much less astounding than they were, and promise, if he continue to versify many years longer, to die away in a gentlemanly quiet cadence, which, though not always particularly capable of engaging the ear of taste, may perhaps not frequently offend it. We do not at all hesitate to admit, that Mr. Atherstone is a poet, as poets now go. He displays in some passages a fine sensibility to the voices which nature, through all her works, is continually uttering to the soul of man, if he have but the time and the temperament to listen to and appreciate them. We fancy that our Edwin would have succeeded in pastorals. Lyrics are altogether out of his way, for we strongly suspect that he never was in love; and without having been enamoured of some hundred or two of dear girls, no man, as we know from Horace and Moore, can, from

the lyre, awaken passionate sounds. The epic line also, we should have said, was not altogether in our poet's way; but we must nevertheless concede, that, with all his defects, he now and then cuts a respectable figure in the council and in the field. Some of his speeches are infinitely more pointed than those of Mr. Hume or Sir Charles Wetherell; and though his battles are rather cloudy and confused, yet they are relieved by episodical digressions, some of which might bear comparison with any blank-verse poem in our language below that of Milton.

We must ask the reader, in opening Mr. Atherstone's seventh book, to recal for a moment the awful menaces which the inspired Elkoshite uttered against Nineveh. "The LORD hath His way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of His feet." "The shield of His mighty men is made red, the valiant men are in scarlet; the chariots shall be with flaming torches in the day of his preparation, and the fir trees shall be terribly shaken. The chariots shall rage in the streets, they shall jostle one against another in the broad ways; they shall seem like torches, they shall run like the lightnings. He shall recount his worthies; they shall stumble in their walk; they shall make haste to the wall thereof, and the defence shall be pepared. The gates of the rivers shall be opened, and the palace shall be dissolved. And her maids shall lead her as with the voice of doves, tabering upon their breasts." The conclusion of the prophecy is, if possible, still more magnificent. "Thy crowned are as the locusts, and thy captains as the great grasshoppers, which camp in the hedges in the cold day, but when the sun ariseth they flee away, and their place is not known where they are. Thy shepherds slumber, O King of Assyria: thy nobles shall dwell in the dust: thy people is scattered upon the mountains, and no man gathereth them. There is no healing of thy bruise; thy wound is grievous; all that hear the bruit of thee shall clap the hands over thee: for upon whom hath not thy wickedness passed continually?" These indeed are sounds that strike the heart, and bring Nineveh before us in all its grandeur and crime, trembling over the abyss into which it was about to be hurled by the wrath of the offended GOD. Nothing like the mingled sublimity and beauty of these prophetic warnings shall we find in Mr. Atherstone's work: they attach, however, a character of importance and interest to the subject he has chosen, and give a unity to his design, which is the grand desideratum of an epic poem.

We have no recollection whatever of the number of battles which were won and lost between Arbaces, the commander of the Medes, and the Assyrian monarch, in the first six books. The night which succeeded the last of those engagements is thus poetically painted at the commencement of the present volume.

'Night hangs o'er Nineveh: the winds are still,-
The rain hath ceased,-the thunders are gone by.

From out the rocky, slowly rolling clouds,
With melancholy eye, the wasted moon
Looks fitfully. Their arms to the pale light
Obscurely glimmering, on the lofty walls
Pace slowly the tired sentinels. But not
With night comes silence,-for the voice of pain
Is heard throughout the city, and the feet
Unresting of the tenders on the couch.
O'erwearied with that day of blood and toil,
Soundly the warriors slumber: but the king
Rests not, for of the battle are his thoughts,
And of the things to come.'-p. 3.

The picture of the battle-field at night is also skilfully touched. 'Like the dead stillness of the corse

From the fierce battle resting, gloomily
Beneath the dim light lay the gory plain.
Like to the blackened ashes, motionless
And cold, where late the mighty spirit of fire
Triumphantly his myriad banners waved,-
The silent battle-field, a drear obscure,
Grimly reposed,-shield, helmet, corslet, spear,
Harness, and broken chariot,-never more
Their owners' proud arms in the fight to aid,—
To the cold moon-beam gleaming.'-p. 7.

Sardanapalus has risen from his troubled couch to gaze upon this chilling scene: the introduction of Huzzab, or Azubah, as Mr. Atherstone more metrically calls her, to sooth the anguish of the King, is well imagined, and, in the diction, full of tenderness.

In his heart

The stillness, and the desolation, spake

With more than trumpet tongue,-thoughts calling up
Such as, till then, within him never waked :---
Motionless, rapt, he stood; and sighs broke forth,
And heart-heaved groans. Gently, at length, his robe
Was drawn; and, when he turned to look, behold!
Azubah stood before him; and,-with voice
Mild as the brooding dove,-within her hands
His hand soft pressing,-her pale cheek and eye
With tear-drops bright,-after short silence, thus.
"Is thy soul troubled,—and shall I not soothe ?
Shall I not sing the songs that thou hast loved?
The tales shall I not tell that gladdened thee?
Hast thou not triumphed ?-wherefore art thou sad?
Go to thy couch; and I the harp will wake
To gentlest music, that thy wounded mind,
As with kind balm, shall heal,-and softest songs
I'll breathe to thee,--that slumber sweet shall fall,
And lull thy sorrows to forgetfulness."

To her the king,-upon her cheek a kiss
Softly impressing; "From thy harp alone,

And from thy voice,-if music to my heart
Could healing bring,-the heavenly charm might flow:
But all within me now is dark and dread;

Mine eye in beauty findeth no delight,

Nor in sweet sounds mine ear: the bloody field,
Shouts, groans, and sights of pain, and ghastly death,
Torture my soul,-and comfort quite shut out:
And, for the days to come,-o'er them hangs night
With shapes of terror filled, that from the gloom
Look out and threaten. Leave me then alone;
Music, nor soft discourse, for me hath charms,-
But silence only, and this solitude.

Go thou unto thy couch,-and visions bright

To happier scenes thy gentle spirit bear."'—pp. 7—9.

The King consults an astrologer, whose obscure answers afford no satisfaction to his soul. The entreaties of the fair Azubah, and the counsel of his minister, the prudent Salamenes, induce him to offer to, what he calls, the rebellious armies, time to bury the slain, and also an amnesty if they would submit to his authority, and surrender into his hands, alive or dead, Arbaces and the priest Belesis. The royal messenger, Nebaioth, appears before the Median chieftains, who had already debated in the old Homeric way upon a variety of plans for peace or war. Upon proclaiming to the assembled hosts the proposals with which he was charged, he was received with tumultuous expressions of the fiercest anger. Mr. Atherstone has, we think, been particularly successful in depicting the effect which the words of the herald produced upon the three hundred thousand warriors by whom he was surrounded.

'As when, at sultry noon, the thunderous clouds, Dark, motionless, and silent, threatening hang,— No wind is felt, and not a sound is heard,—

If then th' etherial bolt, with sudden glance,

The black mass fire,-out roars the awful peal,-
Cloud calls to cloud,―air quivers, and earth shakes,—
Even so, dark lowering, with amazement mute,-
His vehement words to hear, the multitude
Stood motionless,—even so at once out burst
On that dead stillness the tremendous shout.

A thousand swords leaped forth,-ten thousand tongues,
With dreadful accents, for the Assyrian's blood
Called out. Like waters that their mounds have burst,-
In rushed the vengeful throng. Nebaioth saw,
He thought death coming,-and was proud to die :
His left arm stretching forth, to heaven he looked,
And, with a smile, invited them to strike.

'But, as when loudest roars the hurricane,-
When pines bow down, and stubborn oaks are rent,—
With yet a louder voice the thunder god
From the opening cloud doth call, so, o'er the din
Of furious myriads, the tremendous shout

Rose of Arbaces. With the speed of thought,
Behind Nebaioth leaping,-his huge shield,

To guard him, he thrust forth, and, with raised sword,
Death threatened on the dastard who dared strike.
Belesis too, and Abdolonimus,

And every captain,-from their leader's eye

The generous fervour catching,-called aloud,

And bade the soldiers back. Wild hubbub reigned. Like ravencus wolves, whom from their slaughtered prey The lion drives,—so raged the frantic host.

But the terrific weapon of their chief

To tempt none ventured; and his angry voice
Into their hearts struck terror. When, at length,
The storm was sinking,--in the sheath his sword
Arbaces thrust, and to the heralds said :
"Proclaim ye silence now, that all may hear:
And, when there shall be stillness, take ye then
'The herald of the king and unto all

Let him this thing make known; and let no man
His hand uplift to harm him,-for, if God
In this great enterprise do lead us on,

What arm can touch us? Surely a great shame
Had fallen upon us had this blood been shed."

'Then, as he bade, the heralds made proclaim: And, when the noise was hushed, and, with loud voice, The herald of the king through all the host

His mission had made known, then thus again
Arbaces, to Nebaioth turning, spake :

"What thou hast seen and heard, that to the king
Tell faithfully, so shall our trust in Heaven,
And in ourselves, to all be manifest;

And, of his strength, and ours, in juster scales
He may the issue weigh. But he is proud,
Fierce, headlong, boastful,-nor will wisdom learn,
Nor charity, nor justice,-but more deep
In guilt and foolishness, headlong will rush,
And in the foul flood perish! On his head
The bloody price might we not also put t?—
That bid him ponder. For thyself, one word
Of counsel lastly hear. With speech o'erbold,
Twice our impetuous soldiers hast thou chafed ;-
The third time tempt them not, lest not, as now,
Unharmed thou leave us; and, even now, with haste
I warn thee, go, -for, like to lions caged,
Fiercely they glare upon thee."

Speaking thus,-
Nor time for answer leaving,-toward his horse
He led Nebaioth and two heralds charged
Untouched from out the press to lead him forth:
Then with Belesis and the Arabian king
Briefly conferred; and to the captains cried.