He describes the previous night And there was hurrying, rushing to and fro, All ranks abroad, as by one impulse, flocked, * Thousands departed ere the morning rose, - Who lived of her enslavers, fled the first- Yes-there were bitter feelings none could speak- That thus should set their country's star of fame. It is not to be supposed that the poet anticipates that London may become the desert which he describes. But where are the cities of antiquity? Tyre and Sidon, and Babylon and Carthage, and Rome and Constantinople! It behoves us to provide against the possibility; and the description which the poet gives of the signs of the times may not be useless, by way of reference, to warn posterity of the approach of the crisis, when such provision shall be necessary. From such a land-the seat of strife and woe; In search of happier climes, the people go. But much, and long-(though scarce in hope) they bear; The trees-the rocks-that rise in native air; And all those feelings tongue can scarce define, The tale of Eva is in the Spenserian stanza,—the finest, perhaps, in our language, yet at the same time the most difficult. It is no small praise to say that our poet has conquered its difficulties, and given us much of the harmony and grace which are its characteristics. The tale is simple. We will not anticipate any interest which it may possess, by furnishing an outline; and the rather as its merit depends not so much the story, as its colouring and illustrations. Like Childe Harold, its actors are only introduced to furnish occasion for the author's reflections and descriptions. upon We can only afford room for two or three of the detached thoughts and descriptions with which it abounds. Description of her mother's tomb: There was at home one sacred, little spot, Where in the garden's deepest shade was wrought Those thoughts she loved to cherish, though they sent View'd it as though her eye that mother's form possess'd. It was possess'd-as if that stone had breath, The buried started forth again to glow; Past tenderness, and faith, and loveliness, to show. And every tree of dark and mournful hue Hung over it-the cypress cast its shade; Above it waved the melancholy yew, As if its foliage there a pall bad made; The drooping willow by its side display'd Its pendant branches, as in sorrow hung; Behind its lonely seat, a dark stream stray'd The deeply rooted trees and shrubs among: Amidst whose leaves the wind its plaintive murmurs flung. The power of passion in romantic minds Romantic bosoms soonest feel the power Of love, and feel it at its fiercest height; And fall, wrench'd, crush'd, and levelled by the blast- The volume contains a Poem on Electricity. "However unpoetical the theme may sound," the poet observes,—“he believes that there is more poetry in science, than most people are aware of." We believe him, and are happy in being able to illustrate his remark by the following extract from the same poem, which so forcibly describes the direness of the death by lightning: And, oh! has fate a death so dread-so dire! As thus to wither in this fatal fire? Life closed at once-'midst all its hopes and fears- To send one wish-the last-and from the heart- Annihilated by one instant blow: Denied whate'er might sooth the bed of death, In days of heathen darkness thus to die Consign'd the corse untouch'd-untomb'd to lie; To them, far more than death, a source of dread. 200 Pride shall have a Fall; a Comedy, in Five Acts, with Songs. Dedicated by permission to the Right Hon. George Canning, &c. &c. &c. First performed at the Theatre Royal Covent Garden, March 11th, 1824. Fourth Edition. London: Hurst, Robinson, and Co. THE golden age of the British Drama has long since past away; the period of its existence was short, but its brilliancy compensated for its brevity. The writers who adorned it take their place among the classics of the English language, and, wherever sound taste and good feeling shall prevail, will be studied with delight, and regarded almost with reverence. The reigns of Elizabeth and of the two first Princes of the House of Stuart were eminently fertile in the production of genius of almost every kind; and, while Bacon was introducing mankind into the magnificent temple of philosophic truth, every division of the garden of poesy was cultivated by men, upon whom Nature had stamped the impress of intellectual power, and for whom Learning had opened all her resources. But, amidst this blaze of mental splendour, the drama is surrounded by such pre-eminent lustre, as almost to cast into the shade every other branch of literature. In an age of intellectual giants, the dramatists challenge the highest place. Next to the political institutions of his country, if there be one thing of which an Englishman should feel proud, it is of its early dramatic literature. In nature, in vigour, in beauty, in originality, no other nation, of modern times at least, can boast of any thing comparable with it. The humour of Jonson, the wit and poetry of Beaumont and Fletcher, the eloquence of Massinger, the pathos of Ford,-and the union of all these, with ten thousand other excellencies, in SHAKSPEARE, -exhibit a constellation of dramatic genius of unrivalled brilliancy and grandeur. Round these great lights of the drama revolve a host of minor luminaries, each of whom in later times would have been a sun; but, overpowered by the superior splendour of their cotemporaries, their works are disregarded, and their names almost unknown, A cry has been raised by some fastidious critics against the immorality of these writers; nothing was ever more unjust, and the charge evinces a total want of discrimination in those who make it. That in the works of our early dramatists we meet with language which to modern ears is coarse and indelicate, cannot be denied; but such language was not then regarded as criminal, or even indecorous. Innumerable instances of its use might be produced from writers far more grave than |