to her in token of amicable farewell; but she only replied by once more menacing him with her little hand clenched; and then ascending the rocky staircase with almost preternatural speed, was soon out of sight. Julian, on his part, gave no further consideration to her conduct or its motives, but hastening to the village on the mainland, where the stables of the Castle were situated, he again took his palfrey from the stall, and was soon mounted and on his way to the appointed place of rendez. vous, much marvelling, as he ambled forwards with speed far greater than was promised by the diminutive size of animal he was mounted on, what could have happened to produce so great a change in Alice's conduct towards him, that in place of enjoining his absence as usual, or recommending his departure from the island, she should not voluntarily invite him to a meeting. Under impression of the various doubts which succeeded each other in his imagination, he sometimes pressed Fairy's sides with his legs; sometimes laid his holly rod lightly on his neck; sometimes incited him by his voice, for the mettled animal needed neither whip nor spur, and achieved the distance betwixt the Castle of Holm-peel and the stone at Goddard Crovan, at the rate of twelve miles within the hour. The monumental stone, designed to commemorate some fete of an ancient King of Man, which had been long forgotten, was erected on the side of a narrow and lonely valley, or rather glen, secluded from observation by the steepness of its banks, upon a projection of which stood the tall, shapeless, solitary rock, frowning, like a shrouded giant, over the brawling of the small rivulet which watered the ravine. We have been led to such length by the beauty of this description that we have not room for another extract, or we would give that master-piece of wit and irony, the scene where Peveril meets with Ganlesse and Smith at a low alehouse, on his route through Derbyshire. THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. THERE are two lines in this poem which aptly enough express the reader's thought when he closes the book: How Love, though unto Earth so prone, verb of "claw me, claw you:" for he writes thus of Lord Byron, who, like Puff, in the Critic, "had hit on the same thought" with the first lyrist of the day. This poem, somewhat different in form, Whatever offences Mr. Moore's and much more limited in extent, was oriMuse may have been guilty of, ginally designed as an episode for a work, against morality, in her early and about which I have been, at intervals, emacknowledged days of depravity, we ployed during the last two years. Some are quite sure that she is but deep-friend Lord Byron had, by an accidental inonths since, however, I found that my ening her sins by her present danger- coincidence, chosen the same subject for a ous and questionable tone of repent- Drama; and, as I could not but feel the ance. In the sly songs, irregular disadvantage of coming after so formidable odes, and naughty epistles of her a rival, I thought it best to publish my youth, love, though it was masked humble sketch immediately, with such and degraded, still assumed no holy alterations and additions as I had time to or virtuous character, but spoke the make, and thus, by an earlier appearance pure, adulterated language of pas- in the literary horizon, give myself the sion. Since, however, this loose chance of what astronomers call an Heliacal Muse has taken the veil, she is be- rising, before the luminary, in whose light was to be lost, should appear. come doubly dangerous-and under the demure look, worshipful tone, and religious language, which she now affects, contrives to insinuate all her old vices into young hearts, and to make her old confusion worse confounded. Mr. Moore's Muse is now a Magdalen, or such he would have us think her. But, like many of our modern Magdalens, the dress is but changed, the expression of the face is but tamed and saddened. The heart is as lost as ever. The Loves of the Angels (a title, by the way, of that mixed nature which Mr. Moore so deeply prizes) are told in about 120 expensive narrow pages of glittering poetrywhich in every line will substantiate the few previous observations we have made. We do not intend to waste much room upon a work which, we will not say in its aim,but certainly in its tendencies, is worse than worthless. But, as we should be thought by several readers to be wanting in our duty, if we silently passed over a work "from the pen of the first lyrist of the day," we must give our opinion on the subject; and, as it is so unfavourable, we will take care to express it as briefly as possible. The book opens with a short preface, in which Mr. Moore takes the opportunity of realizing the old pro I Certainly Mr. Moore did well to arrange this Heliacal rising in Paternoster Row, before the luminary rose in Old Bond Street. "Two at a time," as Macheath well observes, "there's no mortal can bear." Kean, it will be recollected, quenched Mr. Booth, who tried his hand at an Heliacal rising. "If two men ride upon one horse, one man must ride behind." Two morning guns are quite out of the question. The poem commences with a profusion of stars, as Mr. Moore's poetry invariably does-and in the course of about forty lines,-all hobbling on very lame, but very pious feet, we are introduced to the angel-storytellers, setting on the side of a hill, gossiping at sunset. One evening, in that time of bloom, On a hill's side, where hung the ray Of sunset, sleeping in perfume, Three noble youths conversing lay; And, as they look'd, from time to time, To the far sky, where Daylight furl'd His radiant wing, their brows sublime Bespoke them of that distant world- Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord, The three angels agree to relate their private histories; the first and * The Loves of the Angels, a Poem. By Thomas Moore. London, Longman, 1823. least celestial of the company begins his tale; or rather to use the poet's own words: Sighing, as through the shadowy Past 1 Like a tomb-searcher, Memory ran, Lifting each shroud that Time had cast O'er buried hopes, he thus began: The angel relates that, ""Twas in a land, that far away into the golden orient lies"-he saw one of earth's fairest womankind, "shrined in a brook." It awed him to see her, moving "in light of her own making," as well it should:-But she was equally astonished at seeing him, The tremble of my wings all o'er (For through each plume I felt the thrill) Startled her, as she reach'd the shore Of that small lake-her mirror still- With face upturn'd-so still remain'ḍ! The angel states that he put his head under his wing, to hide his burning glances; and that when he would peep again, the maid was gone! He soon found he could not live without her and, therefore, he was ever at her side. At length he opened to her his love:-She was struck down with sorrow, that her unearthly companion should be so earthly in his desires-and this leads to a very laboured comparison: That though but frail and human, she Should, like the half-bird of the sea, Try with her wing sublimer air, While I, a creature born up there, Should meet her, in my fall from light, From heaven and peace, and turn her flight Downward again, with me to drink Of the salt tide of sin, and sink! After this unfortunate discovery, the angel was on the point of flying, as his time was out; but he could not leave her. A feast" was on that day;" and the angel takes too much wine. This is the unvarnished truth of the passage; but the reader shall see the varnished passage itself. Then, too, that juice of earth the bane Whose drops, like those of rainbows, smile Upon the mists that circle man, Bright'ning not only earth, the while, But grasping heaven, too, in their span !Then first the fatal wine-cup rain'd Its dews of darkness through my lips, Casting whate'er of light remain'd To my lost soul into eclipse, And filling it with such wild dreams, Such fantasies and wrong desires, As, in the absence of heaven's beams, Haunt us for ever-like wild-fires That walk this earth, when day retires. In this state he seeks his lady in the accustomed bower, and finds her star-gazing. The beauty of the scene awes him for a while but his passion and the wine predominate, and he exclaims, the angel exclaimsOh, but to see that head recline A minute on this trembling arm, Of lips that are too fond to fear me : He protests that, on a refusal, he will utter the spell that will plume the wing for heaven. The maid is frightened but she begs eagerly to hear the spell. And upon the angel uttering it, she echoes herself out of his arms to heaven. The angel watches her ascent, and endeavours to follow-but he has lost the power of flying, and has become no better than one of the fallen. And, as he assures his companions, from that time (to copy his own words)I forgot my home, my birth, Profaned my spirit, sunk my brow, And revell'd in gross joys of earth Till I became-what I am now! The story of the second spirit is longer, but no better. It opens with an account of the formation of woman in Paradise, and the call of the angels to behold her. The spirit immediately experiences the endless thirst of knowledge, and gives a very deavours to allay it. rhodomontade description of his en Oh what a vision were the stars, When first I saw them burn on high, Rolling along like living cars Of light, for gods to journey by! They were my heart's first passion-days And nights, unwearied, in their rays Have I hung floating, till each sense Seem'd full of their bright influence. Innocent joy! alas, how much Of misery had I shunn'd below, Could I have still liv'd blest with such; |