UPON reading the poem called "The Lay of the Last Minstrel," a few observations have suggested themselves to me, which, if they fall within the compass of your plan, are at your service.

Although this delightful work does not rise to the sublime heights of epic poetry, yet it is never disgraced by the absurdities which are to be met with in most of those which affect that name. Even Homer himself, to whom nothing has appeared as yet aut simile aut secundum, has puerilities which are only to be excused, as Horace says, by supposing him sometimes to nod. Virgil, more equal throughout, is less sublime; but was so blind an idolater of his great master that, notwithstanding the judgment for which all ages have given him credit, he even copied some of his most glaring faults. Every schoolboy can point out the bombast and feeblenesses of Lucan, Statius, and Silius Italicus,

notwithstanding the fine and even sublime passages which are to be found in them all, especially in the first.

Of the modern Italian poets, Boiardo and Ariosto were writers of romance in verse, and as such, however engaging, are hardly subject to the rules of criticism. Tasso's Gierusalemme Liberata is more regular, and has many beautiful and affecting passages, but seldom rises to sublimity. The same may be said of the Portuguese Camoens, whose subject indeed is less generally interesting than the others. Voltaire's Henriade is more approved by the judgment than the fancy. It is coldly correct, and though it cannot be denied to have beauties, few persons are tempted to search for them a second time.

In our own country the attempts in this difficult line of writing have not been fortunate, always excepted the noble poem of Milton, which shines, among all which have appeared since Homer, velut inter ignes Luna Minores.

Yet it is far from being free from defects, both in the design and execution of it; and like Homer, aliquando dormitat. Cowley failed both in his choice of a subject, and in his manner of treating it. To have read Blackmore requires more patience

m Subjects taken from Scripture have always failed in the execution; witness the Davideis, Mrs. Rowe's Joseph, Duck's

and perseverance than I am master of. Spenser's justly celebrated Fairy Queen, with infinite detached beauties, is merely an allegorical romance, and can hardly be considered as a whole. Leonidas, and the Epigoniad, proximus sed longo proximus intervallo, are now but little known and seldom read: a sure proof of want of interest and merit." So that a perfect epic poem is still, and probably always will be, a desideratum in that. fascinating art.

Now the work which gave rise to these desultory observations, though it does not arrogate to itself that lofty name, has perhaps as good a claim to it as many that have had more presumption. As the author however has not thought proper so to call it, I have no right to name it for him, but shall proceed to point out some of its most striking beauties and defects.

The

Shunamite, Cumberland's Calvary, and many others. venerable and interesting simplicity of the narrative must be lost. Any thing taken from it leaves the story imperfect; any thing added to it disgusts, and almost shocks us as impious. As Omar said of the Alexandrian Library, we may say of such writings, if they contain only what is in the Scriptures, they are superfluous; if what is not in them, they are false.

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The epic poems of Southey, Pye, Hole, and others, are purposely omitted, as they are fresh in the minds of the public, which has properly appreciated their merit. Oh that poets would recollect that not to excel is to fail! This does not apply to Joan of Arc, or to Madoc.

Nothing can be more engaging than the introduction and close of every book; and no reader, I believe, would wish these to be either shortened or altered. Both the thoughts and the versification are equally fine; and the art of the old bard in his applications of the narrative to his hearers is very pleasing and well imagined. The hero of the story itself appears to be Sir William of Deloraine, though he acts only a subordinate part in the conduct of it; and this perhaps may be deemed a fault," but some amends for it are made by the exquisite delineation of his character, and the admirable manner in which it is supported throughout. He is precisely the Ferrau of Italian and French romance, excepting in the brutality of that giant; for the Scotch marauder could mourn over a fallen enemy; and though he

"Harried the lands of Richard Musgrave,

And slew his brother by dint of glaive,"

he lamented the death of an honourable foe, and would have given his lands to have redeemed his life. The whole of his character is pourtrayed with a masterly hand, and the contrast between him and Cranstoun, the exact counterpart of the gallant

• It is however such a fault as is imputed to Milton, who in the opinion of many able critics has erred in making Satan his hero, instead of Adam.

and courtly Knight of Charlemagne, or the Round Table, is drawn with great skill. When they engage, the one thinks of his mistress, and ejaculates

a prayer; the other has no mistress, and knows no prayer;

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but,

"He stoop'd his head and he couch'd his lance,"

as the only preparations necessary for the combat.

The most interesting and highly-wrought passage of the whole poem is Deloraine's journey to Melross Abbey and the visit to Michael Scott's tomb there. The whole description of the abbey, of the wizard himself, (who seems to exist in a state somewhat similar to that of the Vampyres in Hungary,) and of Deloraine's aged conductor, is superior to any thing of the kind that has appeared in modern poems, and perhaps would not lose by a comparison with many of those which are most esteemed among the ancients. It forms several separate pictures adorned with the most vivid and brilliant colouring; and they are so put together as to form a well-blended whole, in which all the parts unite,

P His ignorance, who could not read, and knew no prayer "Save to patter an Ave Mary,"

reminds me of one of the Montmorencis (I think Anne the Constable) who used to make his mark on'y; " attendu," says Brantomé, "quil ne scavoit ni lire ni ecrire."