and perhaps the Turkish empire in Europe will end with an Osman as it began with an Osman."** M. Von Hammer, we doubt not, worships truth with sincerity, but he writes too much in the spirit of a partisan; and he curses and hates the Hassans and Mohammeds of Alamoot as sincerely as if he were a contemporary dreading the visit of a Fedavee. But he is, we should remember, a subject of the sworn foe of secret institutions, and, we doubt not, was in part stimulated to trace thus minutely the history of the great eastern society, as in its destructive career he conceived he saw an exemplification of the evils to be dreaded from secret associations, and a justification of the measures of the cabinet of Vienna. But his censures are too indiscriminate; even the Ismailites were perhaps not so ruthless and abandoned as they are painted; their historians are the orthodox, and the subjects of legitimate autocrats. We know how groundless were many of the charges made against the Templars and the Jesuits; and had Christianity, which was in its origin a secret society, been crushed, all its genuine records, like those of the Assassins, destroyed, and only those of its triumphant enemies preserved, what would be now our idea of its doctrines, and of the characters of its Divine Founder and his missionaries? Few, very few, of M. Von Hammer's countrymen have as yet attained to the true style of historic composition; and we shall look in vain among them for the elegant simplicity of Hume, or the sober dignity of Robertson. In their writings we are either perplexed and disgusted with tiresome circumlocution and mile-long sentences, couched in the obscure dialect of their national metaphysics, or we encounter the metaphors and similes of poetry and extravagant eloquence. The present work is, in the last particular, eminently faulty. It is completely oriental in every respect but language; its style and its subject are so in an equal degree. Another fault is, that the writer takes for granted too great a proportion of knowledge in the reader. Eastern history, romance, poetry, manners and customs, are as * In spite of philosophy, even the strongest minds will be affected by, and dwell on, these casual coincidences. Niebuhr devotes more than a page of his immortal work to showing how the twelve Sæcula, which, according to Tuscan augury, the twelve vultures seen by Romulus, portended as the duration of Rome, ended in the pontificate of Gregory the Great, and remarks, that the six portended by the legitimate Augurium of Remus, terminated with liberty in the days of Sulla or Cæsar. He farther mentions, from Servius, that, according to one tradition, 360 years intervened between the taking of Troy and the building of Rome; and adds, that from thence to the taking by the Gauls was 360; and, in his note, points out the strange sport of chance, in there being 360 years from that time to the taking of Alexandria, and founding of the monarchy; and 360 more to the building of Constantinople. | frequently and as concisely alluded to, as those of Greece and Italy in the works of other authors. We know not how this may answer with the learned Germans, but with us, should the work be, as it deserves, added to our literature, a copious selection of notes would be absolutely indispensable to make it perfectly intelligible. The History of the Assassins is, in every point of view, a valuable work. It contains, as we have already observed, all that is or can be known of them; for all the books and records of the society were destroyed at the taking of Alamoot, and that is matter, for the most part, hitherto totally unknown in Europe. It fills up an important chasm in the history of the world, and of the human mind; and it, is not among the least important benefits which the genius and the industry of its author have bestowed upon literature. The libraries of the east, by M. Von Hammer's account, contain immense treasures hitherto little known and little used; and we trust that his example will stimulate many an Orientalist to make communications from them to the west. From the present work, we may, in the concluding words of our author, "easily estimate what hidden rarities and precious pearls still lie on the unexplored bottom of the ocean of Oriental history. Success attend the diver!" Mr. Von Hammer has recently published the first volume of his History of the Ottoman Empire; of this work we propose giving an account in an early Number. From the London Weekly Journal. THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. A Poem. By Robert Montgomery. Post 8vo. London, 1828. Maunder. THIS little volume, though not entitled to the extravagant encomiums bestowed on it by two of our contemporaries, is certainly no contemptible production. Though the principal poem in the volume is full of imperfections, it is also sprinkled over with many beautiful thoughts and vivid images, that could only have emanated from a truly poetic mind. As Mr. Montgomery is a very young man, we may fairly anticipate, from his future exertions, far better things, unless, indeed, the judgment of the critics alluded to may be considered infallible. In that case, we should advise him to lay aside his pen for the rest of his life, and repose under the shadow of his full-grown laurels. According to these sagacious oracles, he has attained the climax of poetic fame. The Literary Chronicle assures its readers (that is to say, upwards of thirty or forty persons), that his "thoughts and language are perfectly astounding"!!! and Fine Ear's Family Journal pronounces the Omnipresence of the Deity, "a magnificent and sublime composition," in which the author has already "reached the nobler, the noblest aspirations of the muse." It is obviously to be inferred from these commendations, that he has even now fully equalled both Shakspeare and Milton; for what more could be said of the former, than that his the whole universe have any recollection of its former lustre-Mr. Kennedy, his publisher, and his critic! So short-lived is the "high celebrity" of a modern genius! Not to multiply instances of the obstinacy and bigotry of the public, who have invariably rejected the reve add, that a Poem, called "Lycus, the Centaur," by a young gentleman of the name of Hood, published but a few months ago, was affirmed, by that discriminating Journal, to contain a number of passages evincing such intense power, that they would do honour to any poet, (Homer, Shakspeare, Milton, &c.) age, or country." This glorious composition is now so little known, that scarcely a dozen literary men in London have any remembrance of its existence. We hope these few circumstances (which we have taken almost at random from thousands of a similar description,) will convince Mr. Montgomery of the fallibility of our contemporaries, and make him doubt his footing on the mountain of Parnassus. It is our own opinion that he has given evidence of considerable industry and energy; and, if he is not rendered blind and indolent by self-conceit, he may hereafter attain a much higher position than he has yet occupied. "thoughts and language are perfectly astounding;" or of the latter, than that he has produced a "magnificent and sublime composi tion," in which he has "reached the noblest aspirations of the muse?" If these critics were unquestionable authority, we should cau tion our author not to hazard his present ele-lations of the Literary Gazette, we may just vation by further efforts, for great might be the fall. He has no cause to blush for his equals. Montgomery-Shakspeare, and Milton, form a matchless trio! Even supposing him hereafter to surpass his rivals (the mightiest spirits the world has yet worshipped), no additional wreath could be awarded him,-the language of glory is exhausted, and we should be compelled to "muse his praise" in silence. But, alas! for many an ambitious minstrel, the dicta of our modern critics are not always echoed by the voice of Fame. The bigoted populace irreverently reject the new Gods, and continue the worship of their ancient Idols. As proofs of the lamentable stupidity of the times, we may as well take this opportunity to record the following disgraceful facts. A living poet of the name of Pennie is the author of an Epic Poem, the only "fault" of which is (if we may credit his critic), that it is "too full of excellencies-the splendour is overpowering"!!! Will it be believed, that this gentleman is lingering in poverty and obscurity, and that his work is no more regarded, than if it were a common catch Pennie? A poem, entitled "The Course of Time," by a young clergyman of the name of Pollok, has lately been published in the Modern Athens, which the learned and ingenious editor of the Eclectic Review (a publication of much weight), has solemnly assured us, is of such an extraordinary description, that of the two poems-the Paradise Lost, and the Course of Time-he would greatly prefer being the author of the latter and yet the mellifluous twin-names of Pollok and Pennie have no enchantment for the public ear! The writer of the "Course of Time," the most stupendous effort of human intellect, has been utterly neglected; while the name of an inferior individual-a Mr. John Milton, is indelibly engraven on the hearts of all men! In Fine Ear's Family Journal, but little more than three brief months ago, another "astounding" genius was introduced, in the most solemn manner, to the unbelieving and ungrateful world. We will subjoin this magnifi cent announcement. "Of William Kennedy, (esq.) it had never been our fortune to hear; and his book came upon us with an effect, immensely increased by the circumstance that no previous warning was given, of even the existence of a genius of so high an order. It was like the hurricane at midnight LAST WEEK; the torrent, the flash, and the rolling bolt, descended at once, and our astonishment really exceeded what we can find words to express!-But we have supplied all that our space permits, for this appearance of a new star in the poetical horizon. We have now only to leave him to that high celebrity, as a poet, which he has so deservedly earned!"-Literary Gazette, Oct. 20, 1827. " Immortal infamy to the age we live in! this new star" has already disappeared from the 66 poetical horizon;" and but three persons in The Omnipresence of the Deity, as the title imports, is intended to illustrate the universal presence and pervading influence of the Almighty, to teach us "to look through nature up to nature's God," and "justify the ways of God to man." It is unnecessary to follow the pompous analysis prefixed, by the author, to the head of each of the three portions, into which the poem is divided. It will be sufficient to remark, that the first part commences with an apostrophe to the Deity, and is chiefly devoted to the various proofs of his presence and power in external nature. The second part demonstrates the immediate influence of God on the affairs of human life; and the third concludes the poem, with a consideration of the We shall now profolly and impiety of Atheism, and a description of the day of judgment. ceed to present our readers with a few of the best passages in the poem. The following description of the cessation of a storm, is elegant and picturesque : List! now the cradled winds have hush'd their roar, And infant waves curl pouting to the shore, Like hope just risen from the gloom of fear,-- First comes the Sun, unveiling half his face, Panting and wild, like children of the storm! 1 Now sipping flowers, now making blossoms | The placid moon, beneath whose pensive beam shake, The next brief extract is pretty: The following passage, though too closely And eye Bound in the bloom of that delightful age- Or climbs the meadow tree or trails the kite, care, To swell the heart, and curb the giddy air, O! say, what Fancy, though endow'd sublime, We all have loved to wander and to dream, And far terrific meteors flash around!— Stupendous wreck below!-a burning world! As if the flames of hell were on the winds unfurl'd! p. 101-102. The description of the resurrection of all men is equally spirited and forcible : Hark! from the deep of heaven, a trumpet sound Thunders the dizzy universe around; A blast that summons all created souls! * * And lo! the living harvest of the Earth, Reap'd from the grave to share a second birth; Millions of eyes, with one deep dreadful stare, Gaze upward through the burning realms of air; While shapes, and shrouds, and ghastly features gleam, Like lurid snow-flakes in the moonlight beam. p. 104-107. The above are the most favourable specimens of the author's powers, we have been able to select from the "Omnipresence of the Deity;" but there are a few lines in a Poem at the end of the volume, entitled "The Crucifixion," which in justice to the author we cannot think of omitting. The following passage has much force and beauty: The crimes of earth; as if, at last, Thy might And perish on the tree;-but, on Thy car Of heaven! while spirits, robed in light, And all the clouds, like burning billows, flash, And bound beneath Thy feet!-The trump shall peal That dead-awakening blast, more full and Than thunder in its maddest roar! The Sea From the portions of it, which we have now laid before our readers, it will be sufficiently evident that Mr. Montgomery's volume is not without indications of poetic genius. We receive it as an earnest of future excellence: though it contains no single poem which may be considered, on the whole, as a successful performance. In every page there are certain puerilities of thought and language, which betray the immaturity of the writer, whose taste and judgment are exceedingly imperfect. As we have supported our commendation by specimens, we shall also prove the justice of our censure in the same manner. One of the most common faults in young poets is a love of antithesis, which consists more in the opposition of sound than of sense. The following lines are mere nonsense; but the balance of the music may hallow them in the writer's estimation: “With joys that gladden, and with woes that grieve. "Unveils the villain, and condemns the man." It is very odd, certainly, that joys should make us joyful, or that woes should make us sad: but how came the author to treat the villain differently from the man-why only unveil the villain, and actually condemn the man, perhaps to a seven years' transportation? Another proof of juvenility and bad taste is the continual repetition of the same word or rhyme. 'The word tone is not only used too frequently, but often incorrectly. "Ere matter form'd at thy creative tone." "She shook not-shriek'd not-raised no ma- "Roars the deep thunder of his judgment "Adown the brushy dale their tinkling tones." With sure returns of still expected rhymes: Where'er you find 'the cooling western breeze,' In the next line it whispers through the trees;' If crystal streams with pleasing murmurs creep,' The reader's threaten'd-not in vain-with and so it is with Mr. Montgomery. He has Think how the universe obeys his nod." Among his peculiar phrases are "racked surges" As the Night herself keeps watch, there is of course no occasion for her sentries to trouble themselves. We have next some curious metaphors and similes. "The ramping winds fast sweep Like threaded sunbeams on a pallid cloud." "Nature and him were giants twin." Our next extracts are specimens of mere nonsense. "With what a gloom the ushering scene appears, The leaves all shivering with expectant fears." "An omnipresence so supreme as thine!" A supreme omnipresence! The expectant fears remind us of Capt. Seely's "retrospective recollections." The following couplet contains a very original thought, which was marked by one of our contemporaries as a very beautiful "Warriors, patriots, and philosophers-all." We shall now close our account with Mr. Montgomery for the present; and he is very much mistaken if he imagines we are not as friendly to his good name as the senseless critics who would persuade him that he has already cutrivalled the celebrated names of antiquity. From the London Weekly Review. GERMAN LYRICS. Goethe's Werke. Tübingen, 1828. Cotta. THE Lyric is the most original and fertile of all the poetic sources; the development of epic or dramatic poetry being more the work of cold calculation than of that divine impulse which inspires the lyric poet in embodying his conceptions; and if, in the epos or drama, any passage particularly awaken our sympathies, it is when the poet, ceasing as it were to be epic or dramatic, is borne by lyric enthusiasm to something more unearthly and sublime. In fact, if we consider the origin of the epos and drama, we find them to have been primarily enlarged lyrical poems, and that those countries that possessed no native lyric poetry, had neither an original epos or drama, as in the cases of Rome and France. To the chivalrous spirit of the Spanish romances literature is indebted for the wonderful productions of Calderon and Lope; and it was the deep interest of the old Saxon and Teutonic ballads that conjured up the mighty shades of Hamlet and Macbeth, Faustus and William Tell. In order, therefore, to form a just estimate of the poetry of a nation, we must be well acquainted with its lyric writers, and to us it appears surprising that our translators from the German should not have employed their exertions on this point, instead of pandering to a vitiated taste, by presenting only tales of ghosts and goblins, robbers and boisterous knights, or the still more contemptible scenes of maudlin sentimentalism, with which they have been pleased to afflict the public. Few attempts have been made to introduce the German lyrics amongst us, and those few have not afforded any real information on this very interesting portion of German literature. We shall endeavour, at least in some degree, to supply the deficiency, and, with this view, propose to present our readers with a series of articles on the lyrical poets of Germany from Haller (1777,) down to the present time, and to give biographical sketches of those among them who are least generally known. As chronological arrangement forms no part of our design, we shall take the field with Goethe, from respect to the living genius of "Il signor dell' altissimo canto, Che sovra gli altri com' aquila vola." Goethe's smaller pieces unquestionably contain some of the most original conceptions of modern poetry, uniting, as they do, the simplicity of the Greek with the depth of the German, and perfectly free from that besetting sin of our times-a straining after effect by florid diction and forced display. The author's principal power in these smaller poems arises from his fine perception and description of nature, not, like Wordsworth, attaching himself to vulgari ties, but perceiving and calling forth beauties in objects unnoticed or despised by the ordinary observer. He is the Raphael of Poetry, whose chaste delineations are for all people and all times. Goethe's smaller poems, flowing, ingenuous and elegant in thought and expression, have become, as it were, the national property of Germany, resounding alike in the palace and the peasant's humble dwelling. This is the true standard by which poetry should be tried, for, when thus delighting the simplest as the most cultivated taste, she is evidently the child of Nature, breathing the universal language of the human heart. The poet himself has divided his shorter pieces into Lieder (songs), Romanzen (romances), Sonaten (sonnets), Elegien (elegies), and Varmischtten Gedichte (miscellaneous poems). On the present occasion we will con fine ourselves to a few selections from the Lieder. Some critic, speaking of Romeo and Juliet, has said that love was the author's assistant in that composition, a remark which may be applied regarding the amatory poems of Goethe. They are full of the most tender feeling, and express all the various emotions of a lover's overflowing breast. "Lass mein aug'den abschied sagen." Taking farewell of a beloved object, has so frequently exercised poets in general, that (like of a master to throw the charm of novelty the Madonna for a painter) it requires the hand around it. O let me look Farewell. O let me look the fond farewell Sad now is ev'ry pledge become O how has ev'ry stolen kiss No longer now I cull the flow'rs, "Nahe der Geliebten." This little poem beautifully expresses the mighty power of love, which from inanimate nature calls forth the image and voice of the beloved and distant fair. Near the beloved One. I think of thee, love! when the morning's ray I think of thee, love! when the moonbeams play |
