I leave hearts and heads to Reformers like those,

I only, dear girl, revolutionize toes.

Kitty Brown, would you think it? I don't say the fault's in
Themselves; but the girls here know nothing of waltzing.
I found them in Moneymusk kicking their heels,
And when I named Paine, and his set of Quadrilles,
(I wonder what planet some people come from)
The poor ignoramusses thought I meant Tom.
How could, gentle James, the New York women be
So dull as to mix that stay-maker with thee?
What though Brother Richard, as usual, out plumps
A pun, and declares that you both deal in Jumps-
Shalt thou, who 'midst Negus and tapers of wax,
Art christen'd, par excellence, Paine of Almack's;
Who set, to an entre-chat-La ci la mano,
And jigg'd the dead march on an open piano-
Shalt thou be mix'd up with that infidel Turk,
Who scribbled a pamphlet in answer to Burke ?
Let White print his rival La Poulle and Trenise,
And dedicate humbly to Mrs. Charles Rees;
Let Hart, like Phil Astley, make horses turn dancers,
And play Zitti Zitti to Hussars and Lancers.
Fear nothing : cut capers: be frisky and merry;
Not even Musard, with his Duchesse de Berry,
His Traversez, chassez, dechassez, La Cheine,
Shall push from the music-stand gentle James Paine.
Long, long shalt thou flourish, the King of Quadrilles ;
And when, over Styx, 'midst the virtuous of heels,
Thou 'rt borne to the meadows Elysian, with you
The daughter of Ceres shall dance a pas-deux:
While Hermes shall lend you his feather-bound shoes,
And whirl you to bliss in a Russian Sauteuse.

And now, my dear Kate, for the best news of all:
We have worried Papa into giving a ball.

As soon as he squeez'd out a sad "Very well,"
Dick hired the rooms at the City Hotel.

We danced until midnight on Saturday last,

And, spite of a head-ache, I'll tell you what pass'd.
The Natives, who came about half-after eight,
Were duly announced by their titles of State.
Their Honours Mat Mite and Aminadab Mum,
The one dealt in cheese, the other in Rum.

His Honour Ben Block, who contracts with the Fleet,
And keeps a mahogany yard in State-street:
His Honour Luke Lambert, a huge lump of clay,
Who luckily happens to live in Broad-way.
They all seem'd amazingly shy of plain Mister;
Which made Brother Richard observe to my Sister,

That though they hate titles as much as O'Connor,

They cling like a Leech to the sound of "Your Honour."

And now for my dress-but my paper's scrawl'd through,
So no more at present.-Dear Kitty, adieu!

VOL. III. No. 16.-1822.

L. B.

THE MARTYR OF ANTIOCH.*

THIS poem possesses the characteristics of fine talents; whether it can be said to show those of positive genius appears to us to be much more questionable. The whole of Mr. Milman's writings are calculated to afford interesting and instructive examples of cultivated intellect and taste, producing high effects of beauty without original powers of invention.

Higher poems of this author than the present, we conceive, would illustrate this position; but this production, we think, is remarkably calculated to prove it. The Martyr of Antioch belongs to that class of poetry which, perhaps, may be regarded as more valuable than any other that is not highly inventive, namely, that which places before us actual historical truth, rendered fresh and radiant to our perceptions by being clothed in a garb of imaginative beauty, which displays and sets off the form it covers, rather than conceals or gives it a false and deceitful appearance-a class which may in one sense of the words be called "Truth severe in fairy fiction dress'd."

The Martyr of Antioch is founded on the history of Saint Margaret; but Mr. Milman has merely availed himself of that portion of the history which relates, that she was the daughter of a heathen priest, and beloved by Olybius, the prefect of the East under the Emperor Probus. The rest of the legend has been discarded, and the outline filled up as the author's own imagination suggested.

The scene is laid at Antioch, and the poem opens before the celebrated temple of Apollo in the grove of Daphne; of which temple Margarita, the heroine, is at the outset of the poem supposed to be the chief priestess, and the especial favourite of the god. The scene is ushered in by a hymn, sung by the youths and maidens of Antioch, in the presence of the assembled priests, nobles, and people. This hymn is intended to indicate the close of the solemn rites which have just been paid to Apollo; and nothing is wanting to complete the splendid spectacle of the day, but

"The crown and palm-like grace of all,
The sacred virgin, on whose footsteps Beauty
Waits like a handmaid; whose most peerless form,
Light as embodied air, and pure as ivory
Thrice polish'd by the skilful statuary,

Moves in the priestess' long and flowing robes,

While our scarce-erring worship doth adore

The servant rather than the God."

The assembly wait for her for some time in breathless and admiring expectation; when at length a priest enters from the holy sanctuary, to announce that Margarita is not to be found, and that

In the midst of the general consternation occasioned by this unlookedfor absence, messengers arrive from Rome, bringing the Emperor's

"The Martyr of Antioch, a dramatic poem, by the Rev. H. H. Milman,, Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford."

commands to Olybius for renewed severities against the Christians, who are known to have taken refuge in the neighbourhood of Antioch. While Olybius, who loves Margarita and is beloved by her, is, in pursuance of the new edict, denouncing the Christians and devoting them to death, she enters, clad in sackcloth and with ashes strewn upon her head. The multitude hail her with enthusiasm; but she, regardless of the scene before her, is rapt in her own thoughts

"She hath fall'n down upon her knees; her hair

Is scatter'd like a cloud of gold; her hands
Are clasp'd across her swelling breast; her eyes
Do hold a sad communion with the heavens,
And her lips move, yet make no sound."

This we take to be as lovely and perfect a picture as was ever copied by the pen from the pencil. It is, without exception, the most finished passage in the poem: indeed it is one of the best that was ever executed in its way; but we do not attach any very high value to such pictures, as it relates to the talent required to produce them. The reader will, of course, recognise its original in several of the Magdalenes of Guido, Carlo Dolce, &c. The priests attribute the few incoherent words and the distracted manner of Margarita to a special visitation from the God; and they lead her away amid the shouts of the people in honour of Olybius," the Christian's scourge."-We now meet with Margarita passing alone at night through the grove of Daphne, where she is joined by Olybius, who declares his love for her.

"On the Parthian's fiery sands

I look'd upon the blazing noontide sun,

And thought how lovely thou before his shrine

Wast standing with thy laurel-crowned locks.

And when my high triumphal chariot toil'd

Through Antioch's crowded streets, when every hand

Rain'd garlands, every voice dwelt on my name,

My discontented spirit panted still

For thy long silent lyre."

She seeks to disengage herself from him, and by her ambiguous words and manner, raises his suspicions of her faith and purity; but she dares not at present explain herself, or avow her new creed, because, as it appears afterwards, she is on her way to warn the Christians of their impending danger from the new edict of the Emperor. She therefore abruptly quits Olybius, and, arriving at the spot where the persecuted sect meet at night, relates the purport of her errand. At the close of this conference the Roman soldiers are heard approaching.

At daybreak Margarita returns to the Temple, where she meets her doting father, who finds her hanging over her accustomed lyre, and hails her with delighted pride.

"My child,

My own, my loved, my beauteous child! once more
Thou art thyself; thy snowy hands are trembling
On thy loved lyre, and doubtless thou art hailing
Our God, who from his golden eastern chamber
Begins to dawn. I have commanded all
The ministering priests and sacred virgins
Their robes and verdant chaplets to prepare.
Thou too shalt come with all thy richest songs
To hymn the triumph of our God around
The pile whereon these frantic Galileans
Writhe and expire."

This brings about an avowal of her falling off from his faith-(he is the chief priest of the temple)-and her determined adherence to that of the proscribed and condemned Galileans. When he can no longer doubt the truth of what he hears, he exclaims

Lightnings blast-not thee,

But those that by their subtle incantations

Have wrought upon thy innocent soul! Look there!"

directing her attention to the image of the God, and asking

There in the East. Mark how the purple clouds
Throng to pavilion him: the officious winds

Pant forth to purify his azure path

From night's dun vapours and fast-scattering mists:
The glad earth wakes in adoration; all
The voices of all animate things lift up
Tumultuous orisons; the spacious world
Lives but in him, that is its life.

But he,

Disdainful of the universal homage,

Holds his calm way, and vindicates for his own

Th' illimitable heavens, in solitude

Of peerless glory unapproachable

What means thy proud undazzled look,—to adore
Or mock?"

Still, however, she looks, unmoved; acknowledging the glories of the imagery before her, but acknowledging them only as the work of her God; and this best scene in the poem is closed by a high and solemn hymn in praise and adoration of the Saviour. We are now introduced to the Hall of Justice, where the Christians are brought before Olybius, who prepares himself for the task of justice by swearing to discard from his breast all partial affection, and condemn to torture and death all who shall be found "guilty of the Galilean faith." Here ensues a lengthened and somewhat dull colloquy between Olybius and the chiefs of the Christians, in the midst of which some shepherds bring in a veiled maiden, whose robes and fillet indicate her to be a priestess of Apollo, but whom they have found in a cave by the Qrentes,

"Pouring upon the still and shudd'ring air
Her hymn to Christ."

It is Margarita.

"CALLIAS,

Great Judge! great Prefect!

It is my child-Apollo's gifted priestess!
Within that holy and oracular cave

Her spirit quaffs th' absorbing inspiration.

Lo, with what cold and wandering gaze she looks
On me, her sire-it chokes her voice-these men,

These wicked, false, blaspheming men, have leagued
To swear away her life."

She now avows her faith-the rest of the Christians exult in theirsand the whole are led out to prison. We have now a scene in the prison, which is long, and we cannot help thinking, somewhat dreary and inefficient. But it contains one very pleasing passage, in which Margarita relates what she conceives to have been the occasion of her conversion to the new creed :

is

"Dost thou not remember
When Decius was the Emperor, how he came
To Antioch, and when holy Babylas
Withstood his entrance to the Christian church,
Frantic with wrath, he bade them drag him forth
To cruel death? Serene the old man walk'd
The crowded streets; at every pause the yell
Of the mad people made, his voice was heard
Blessing God's bounty, or imploring pardon
Upon the barbarous hosts that smote him on.
Then didst thou hold me up, a laughing child,
To gaze on that sad spectacle. He pass'd,
And look'd on me with such a gentle sorrow;
The pallid patience of his brow toward me
Seem'd softening to a smile of deepest love.
When all around me mock'd and howl'd, and laugh'd,
God gave me grace to weep. In after time
That face would on my noontide dreams return;
And in the silence of the night I heard

The murmur of that voice remote, and touch'd
To an aerial sweetness, like soft music
Over a tract of waters. My young soul

Lay wrapt in wonder, how that meek old man
Could suffer with such unrepining calmness,

Till late I learnt the faith for which he suffer'd,
And wonder'd then no more."

This arbitrary blending together of the present feelings excited in her by the new faith, with the thoughts and images impressed upon her memory in early youth, and her afterwards dwelling upon this association till she comes to regard her present sentiments as the result of it, very natural and poetical. Callias in vain urges her to return to her own worship; and he quits her to beg for mercy from the Prefect. Margarita is now privately led to the sumptuous palace of Olybius,who, after pointing her attention to the horrors that await the condemned Christians on the morrow, and contrasting it with the rich and voluptuous delights that surround her, offers to make her his bride, and Queen of the East, if she will renounce her faith. But she is not to be moved, and returns to her prison; while Olybius debates with himself on the means of saving her.-We now come to the last and longest scene; which takes place before the Temple of Apollo, and in