Terruit et densas pavido cum rege cohortes, But thou be bold: let not thy hopes give way, For o'er their heads the invisible trumpet blew In the clear air, and the dust lived and flew, And the earth shook with hoofs, and there came by Of horses rushing to the war, and rain Of iron blows, and the dark roar of men. The neighing horses rushing to battle, remind me of a fine adjuration in Sale's Koran;-" By the horses that rush to battle with a panting noise." Elegy the fifth, on the arrival of Spring, was written two years after, when he was twenty. Warton says of it" In point of poetry, sentiment, selection of imagery, facility of versification, and Latinity, this elegy, written by a boy, is far superior to one of Buchanan's on the same subject, intitled Maia Calenda." He might have added, and to one of Statius, at least in point of poetry. The thought about the nightingale, and the new leaves that she has acquired (adoperta); which Warton admires, is from our poet's favorite story of Cambuscan in Chaucer: "Jam, Philomela, tuos, foliis adoperta novellis, Now that thou hast got new leaves, Philomel, thy heart receives Comfort new; and does again Take the still woods with a strain. "Ful lusty was the wether and benigne, For which the fowles, again the sunny shene, Ful loudè songen her affectiöns: Hem semed han getten hem protections Again the swerd of winter, kene and cold." In the following luxuriant passage, our author gives way to all the natural impulses of youth and poetry : Jam Sol Ethiopas fugiens Tithoniaque arva, Est breve noctis iter, brevis est mora noctis opacæ, Horrida cum tenebris exulat illa suis. Jamque Lycaonius, plaustrum celeste, Boötes Non longâ sequitur fessus ut ante viâ: Nunc etiam solitas circum Jovis atria toto Excubias agitant sidera rara polo: Nam dolus, et cædes, et vis cum nocte recessit, Fortè aliquis scopuli recubans in vertice pastor, Te manet Æolides viridi venator in herbâ ; Exuit invisam Tellus rediviva senectam, Atque Arabum spirat messes, et ab ore venusto Now the sun from the swart plains With the dark night get them hence; Haply, as he tends his flock, Some blithe shepherd on his rock, When the dewy ground is red With the peep of Phœbus' head, Greets the God, and says, "O Sun, This night thou must have slept alone: No lady by thy side hadst thou, Or day had not been here by now." Dian now delights to see Her brother come so speedily Rolling up his wheels of light; And from her tresses doth undight Her slenderer beams, and takes her darts Desires, and doth deserve; for who And a dewy kiss betwixt. It was passages perhaps of this description, that induced Salmasius to make a true Frenchman's mistake, and accuse Milton of being a debauchee, because he had the voluptuousness of a poet. But such mistakes are natural to critics in all countries. The author of Hints to a Young Reviewer says, "We shall often have occasion to object to the propriety of Mr. Milton's amatory notions." There is a beautiful couplet at v. 115, which will be particularly touching to those who have been at sea, and know how fond a sailor is of singing at his watch. Navita nocturno placat sua sidera cantu, The sailor tilts at night along, The grampuses, which are supposed by some, with great probability, to be the true ancient dolphin, really seem at night time, when they rise about a vessel, as if they felt a kind of intercourse with those who regard them. I will observe, by the way, to those who may happen to have Warton and his scholarship in hand, that I have not thought proper to follow him in his interpretation of the word digna, at v. 57. It is assuredly one of the few instances in which he suffers the vanity of learning to overcome his taste. I cannot refer to the passage he quotes from Cicero; but when dignus is taken more specifically in a sense like the one he alludes to, it must still be in the general one of comely and becoming, implying the beauty fittest for the occasion and the sex: and in the present instance, even this refinement is unnecessary. is clear enough by the context, that Milton simply means to say, that the Earth is worthy of the love of Phoebus, for he proceeds to give the reason :-" Quid enim formosius," &c. Had he intended digna to mean beautiful instead of deserving, this logical formula, if not erroneous, would at least have wanted the strength and nature that it now strikes us with. Yet it must be allowed, that Milton, at no time, was above an ultra-refinement, if classical. At v. 122, is an idle conceit from Ovid. Sylvanus is called It The next elegy is a second epistle to Deodati in answer to some verses his friend had sent him during a Christmas merry-making. Deodati had apologized for the poorness of them, and pleaded the levity of the season. Milton thinks them not only good, but says it is no wonder that such good verses should result from the triple inspiration of Apollo, Ceres, and Bacchus. He proceeds, with a philosophy worthy of the universality of a poet's mind, to pay due honour to geniuses of a festive character; but adds, that for those who meditate still higher strains, a greater degree of temperance is undoubtedly necessary; and then informs his friend, that as to himself, he has been writing a Christmas song of f a very serious character, a poem upon an infant God, and of angelic companies "modulating in the æther." He alludes to that noble production, prophetic of all his genius, the Ode on the Nativity. The subject of Elegy the 7th and last, written at nineteen, is interesting. Our young poet has fallen in love with an unknown lady; and complains, in terms that have been thought expressive of a very serious passion, of not being able to meet with her a second time. The last couplet but one is passionate. Nescio cur, Deme meos tandem, verùm nec deme, furores: However, he soon forgot the lady in his books. The Elegies are closed with a postscript, in which he boasts that his return to Socrates and the groves of Academe (College, to wit) delivered him from flames and darts, and enabled him to gird himself about with "much ice." He adds, with a fine exaggerated feeling of the robuster part of his character, that Venus even feared a new wound from him, like the one she received from Diomed. A long time after, however, in one of his prose works, Milton looks back upon his early attachment to the elegiac poets with " eyes of youth.". "Others," he says, speaking of his favourite authors, 66 were the smooth Elegiac poets, whereof the schools are not scarce; whom, both for the pleasing sound of their numerous, writing, which in imitation I found most easy, and most agreeable to nature's part în me; and for their matter, which what it is, there be few who know not, I was so allured to read, that no recreation came to me better welcome." In Milton's spirit Diomed and Venus were reconciled. K [The remainder of the Latin poems, which comprehend his finest ones, in our next.] REVIEW OF BOOKS. Memoirs of a Young Greek; or Madame Pauline Adelaide Alexandre Panam versus the Reigning Prince of Saxe Coburg. ex We sent for the work headed as above, in that agreeable state of curiosity which is produced by the expectation of a hearty repast of scandal, and have been most grievously disappointed. Not that a relishing quantity of the desirable article in question is not to be found in it, but that in point of fact it is a dull and common-place story, ceedingly similar to that blessed episode in English history, supplied by the loves of a Royal Mark Antony and a Cleopatra under the guise and denomination of one Mrs. Mary Anne Clarke, to whom, in point of intrigue and restlessness, we suspect our young Greek bears no slight resemblance. Suppose we furnish a brief outline of her tale. Madame Pauline Adelaide Alexandre Panam, is no otherwise a Greek, than as her father was one, being a refugee from Smyrna, when the Turks massacred its Greek inhabitants in their usual amiable manner in the year 1780. Possessed of the secret of giving a red dye to cotton, he established a manufactory at Marseilles, and prospered until the era of the Revolution, at which time he was overtaken by adversity, and sickened and died, leaving a widow, two daughters, and a son. The youngest of the former was our heroine, a young lady who, at the age of fourteen, "possessed that character of countenance by which the daughters of Greece are so easily distinguished; and those well-turned black eyes and large eyelashes which characterise the women of Chios and Smyrna: a sort of beauty which is not met with in Europe, and the piquant peculiarity of which, not perhaps its superiority, is seldom disputed." Circumstances unnecessary to mention brought the family where, in the absence of their mother, the two sisters received a card for a ball, where our beautiful heroine of fourteen met " with a tall young man, whose head, a little inclined, was covered with black hair naturally curled," who did her the honour to pay her marked attention, and to chat with her for a long time. It was the Duke of Saxe Coburg. We borrow the following additional description of this Adonis of Princes: "His step was noble; his figure and appearance handsome and elegant; his conversation a little constrained but fashionable; it betrayed assurance rather than facility, confidence rather than ease. I observed, without pain, the earnestness with which several persons followed him with their eyes; I was flattered with the attentions which he paid to me alone. "A lively curiosity, joined to a slight feeling of vanity, were the only impressions of vanity which remained after I saw the Prince. He praised my vivacity, gracefulness, and gaiety; I ventured to banter him with all the giddiness of my age. He wished to know my name: indiscreet friends informed him of it. He soon found out my residence, and in three days after came to see us.' It is easy to anticipate the result of an intercourse of this nature, between persons so circumstanced. After some very lack-a-daisical |