"To love the softest hearts are prone, But break-before it bend again." P. 27, 28. We shall add but one other exceptionable passage; in which also, though there is much force both of conception and expression, the same ambition of originality has produced a degree of harshness in the diction, and an air of studied ingenuity in the thought, which is very remote from the general style either of the piece or its author. "The Mind, that broods o'er guilty woes, Is like the Scorpion girt by fire, In circle narrowing as it glows One sad and sole relief she knows, Or live like Scorpion girt by fire: So writhes the mind by conscience riven, Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven, Darkness above, despair beneath, Around it flame, within it death!" P. 8, 9. There is infinite beauty and effect, though of a painful and almost oppressive character, in the following extraordinary pasVOL. II. 2D ED. 49 sage; in which the author has illustrated the beautiful, but still and melancholy aspect, of the once busy and glorious shores of Greece, by an image more true, more mournful, and more exquisitely finished, than any that we can now recollect in the whole compass of poetry. "He who hath bent him o'er the dead, That fires not-wins not-weeps not-now- Whose touch thrills with mortality, The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon- That parts not quite with parting breath; But beauty with that fearful bloom, Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay, Spark of that flame-perchance of heavenly birth- P. S, 4. The oriental costume is preserved, as might be expected, with admirable fidelity through the whole of this poem; and the Turkish original of the tale is attested, to all but the bolder sceptics of literature, by the great variety of untranslated words which perplex the unlearned reader in the course of these fragments. Kiosks, Caiques, and Muezzins, indeed, are articles with which all readers of modern travels are forced to be pretty familiar; but Chiaus, palampore, and ataghan, are rather more puzzling: they are well-sounding words, however; and as they probably express things for which we have no appropriate words of our own, we shall not now object to their introduction. But we cannot extend the same indulgence to Phingari, which signifies merely the moon; which though a humble monosyllable, we maintain to be a very good word either for verse or prose, and can, on no account, allow to be supplanted, at this time of day, by any such new and unchristian appellation. The faults of diction which may be charged against the noble author, are sufficiently apparent in several of the passages we have quoted, and need not be farther specified. They are faults, some of them of carelessness, and some, we think, of bad tastebut as they are not very flagrant in either way, it would probably do the author no good to point them out particularly to his notice. The former, we suspect, he would not take the trouble to correct and of the existence of the latter we are not sure that we should easily convince him. We hope, however, that he will go on, and give us more fragments from his oriental collections; and powerful as he is in the expression of the darker passions and more gloomy emotions from which the energy and the terrors of poetry are chiefly derived, we own we should like now and then to meet in his pages with something more cheerful, more amiable, and more tender. The most delightful, and, after all, the most poetical of all illusions, are those by which human happiness, and human virtue, and affection, are magnified beyond their natural dimensions, and represented in purer and brighter colours than nature can furnish, even to partial observation. Such enchanting pictures not only gladden life by the glories which they pour on the imagination—but exalt and improve it, by raising the standard both of excellence and enjoyment beyond the vulgar level of sober precept and actual example; and produce on the ages and countries which they adorn, something of the same effect, with the occasional occurrence of great and heroic characters in real life-those moral avatars, by whose successive advents the dignity of our nature is maintained against a long series of degradations, and its divine original and high destination made palpable to the feelings of all to whom it belongs. The sterner and more terrible poetry which is conversant with the guilty and vindictive passions, is not, indeed, without its use both in purging and in exalting the soul: but the delight which it yields is of a less pure, and more overpowering nature; and the impressions which it leaves behind are of a more dangerous and ambiguous tendency. Energy of character and intensity of emo tion are sublime in themselves, and attractive in the highest degree as objects of admiration; but the admiration which they excite, when presented in combination with worthlessness and guilt, is one of the most powerful corrupters and perverters of our moral nature; and is the more to be lamented, as it is most apt to exert its influence on the noblest characters. The poetry of Lord Byron is full of this perversion; and it is because we conceive it capable of producing other and still more delightful sensations than those of admiration, that we wish to see it employed upon subjects less gloomy and revolting than those to which it has hitherto been almost exclusively devoted. AN ESSAY TOWARDS A THEORY OF APPARITIONS. By John Ferriar, M. D. 12mo. pp. 150. DR. FERRIAR treats his subject as a physician, and finds, in diseased action of the brain, the source of those symptoms, which perplex and distress patients labouring under not heavy, but light insanity. He has collected a number of cases in which the nature of the disease is clear; he has also adduced some of real physical spectral images, which lead us to regret that he has not extended his communications on this amusing and interesting branch of his subject. We have lately adduced several instances of delusive appearances in the heavens, in reference to distant objects; an article inserted in a note by Dr. F. brings the appearance to a much nearer approach. "After having been here for the thirtieth time," says Mr. Haue, and, besides other objects of my attention, having procured information respecting the above-mentioned atmospheric phenomenon, I was at length so fortunate as to have the pleasure of seeing it; and perhaps my description may afford satisfaction to others who visit the Broken through curiosity. The sun rose about four o'clock, and the atmosphere being quite serene towards the east, his rays could pass without any obstruction over the Heinnichshohe. In the southwest, however, towards the Achtermaunshohe, a brisk west wind carried before it their transparent vapours, which were not yet condensed into thick heavy clouds. About a quarter past four I went towards the inn, and looked round to see whether the atmosphere would permit me to have a free prospect to the southwest; when I observed, at a very great distance towards the Achtermaunshohe, a human figure of a monstrous size. A violent gust of wind having almost carried away my hat, I clapped my hand to it, by moving my hand towards my head, and the colossal figure did the same. The pleasure which I felt on this disco very can hardly be described; for I had already walked many a weary step in the hope of seeing this shadowy image without being able to satisfy my curiosity. I immediately made another movement by bending my body, and the colossal figure before me repeated it. I was desirous of doing the same thing once more but my colossus had vanished. I waited in the some position, waiting to see whether it would return and in a few minutes it again made its appearance in the Achtermaunshohe. I paid my respects to it a second time and it did the same to me. I then called the landlord of the Broken and having both taken the same position which I had taken alone, we looked towards the Achtermaunshohe, but saw nothing. We had not, however, stood long, when two such colossal figures were formed over the above the eminence, which repeated our compliment by bending their bodies as we did; after which they vanished. We retained our position; kept our eyes fixed upon the same spot, and in a little time the two figures again stood before us, and were joined by a third. Every movement that we made by bending our bodies, these figures imitated-but with this difference, that the phenomenon was sometimes weak and faint, sometimes strong and well defined. Having thus had an opportunity of discovering the whole secret of this phenomenon, I can give the following information to such of my readers as may be desirous of seeing it themselves. When the rising sun, and according to analogy the case will be the same at the setting sun, throws his rays over the Broken upon the body of a man standing opposite to fine light clouds floating around, or hovering past him, he needs only fix his eye steadfastly upon them, and, in all probability, he will see the singular spectacle of his own shadow extending to the length of five or six hundred feet, at the distance of about two miles before him. This is one of the most agreeable phenomena I ever had an opportunity of remarking on the great observations of Germany.” Still more curious is an instance recorded by Don Juan de Ulloa, in his voyage to South America, which we transcribe from the English translation, 1772, vol. 1. p. 442. “We saw a surprising phenomenon on our first ascent to Pambamarca. At break of day the whole mountain was encompassed with very thick clouds, which the rising of the sun dispersed so far as to leave only some vapours of a tenuity not cognizable by the sight: on the opposite side to that where the sun rose, and about ten toises distant from the place where we were standing, we saw, as in a looking-glass, the image of each of us, the head being, as it were, the centre of three concentric iris's: the last, or most external colours of one touched the first of the following; and at some distance from them all was a fourth arch entirely white. These were perpendicular to the horizon: and as the person moved, the phenomenon moved also in the same disposition and order. But what was remarkable, though we were |