tors, wrought New and amazing changes-these I sing. "Sky, sun, and sea were all the universe; The sky, one blue, interminable arch, Without a breeze, a 'wing, a cloud; the sun Sole in the firmament, but in the deep Redoubled; where the circle of the sea, Invisible with calmness, seem'd to lie Within the hollow of a lower heaven. "I was a Spirit in the midst of these, All eye, ear, thought; existence was enjoyment; Light was an element of life; and air Perpetual power impel, and hope allure. I and the silent sun were here alone, There all communion ended; and I sigh'd, From this region we are conducted through the vicissitudes of darkness, light, refreshing breezes, time, lightnings, tempests, calms, southern constellations, dolphins, and leviathans. The second canto leads us through the mysterious caverns of the ocean, where we gaze upon their hidden recesses, strange productions, and varied inhabitants, and are alternately charmed with their pastimes, and terrified with their ferocity. In these strange abodes, "Where down ten thousand fathoms from the day, Springs the great fountain mother of the sea," we perceive the coral worms, laying the foundation of their pile, which in process of time is destined to lift its summit to the surface of the ocean, where, expanded into an island, it mocks the proudest works of art. In the third canto, the poet "exhausts old worlds, and then imagines new." At his call the creations of imagination appear in regular succession before us. Like the exhibitions of the Kaleidoscope, which presents us with pictures ever variable and ever new, imaginary worlds rise, shine, disappear, and give place to others, furnishing in rich variety the complicated beauties to which invention, vision, reverie, and fancy, give birth. But not having time thus to follow the distinct characteristics of each canto, we must proceed to furnish some specimens of the composition. The coral island having reached the surface of the water, the poet thus proceeds to clothe it with earth, with vegetable productions, and animal life. "Nine times the age of man, that coral reef Had bleach'd beneath the torrid noon, and borne The thunder of a thousand hurricanes, Whales stranded in the shallows, hideous weeds Hurl'd out of darkness by th' uprooting surges; Heap'd the rough surface, till the various mass, fruit, Pluck'd up and wafted hither by the flood. Death's spoils, and life's hid treasures, thus enrich'd And coloniz'd the soil; no particle Of meanest substance but in course was turn'd Fell on the sterile wilderness as sweetly The aspect of that solitary isle, Like rays of light, transparent in the sun Unlock'd their treasures, and let flow their fragrance. Then insect legions, prank'd with gaudiest hues, Pearl, gold, and purple, swarm'd into exist Some barely visible, some proudly shone, Those lived deliciously on honey-dews, And arm'd with stings for vengeance or assault, In the sixth canto we have a lively but melancholy picture of savage life, setting forth human nature in all its degradation. From this we select the following, as a true but gloomy feature in the loathsome portrait.— "Woman was here the powerless slave of Till limbs, by beauty moulded, eyes of glad ness, And the full bosom of confiding truth, Or wrung with lonely unimparted wo. "He slew the game with his unerring arrow, But left it in the bush for her to drag Home, with her feeble hands, already burthen'd With a young infant clinging to her shoulders. Here she fell down in travail by the way, Her piteous groans unheard, or heard unanswer'd; There, with her convoy, she-mother, and child, And slaughter'd deer, became some wild beast's prey; Though spoils so rich not one could long en joy, Soon the woods echoed with the huge uproar Of savage throats contending for the bodies, Till not a bone was left for farther quarrel. -He chose the spot; she piled the wood, she -He brain'd the drowsy panther in his den, The citadel thus storm'd, the monster slain, "Yet, 'midst the gall and wormwood of her lot, She tasted joys which none but woman knows, -The hopes, fears, feelings, raptures of a mother. Well nigh compensating for his unkindness, In each of whom she lived a separate life, fill'd, Flow in perpetual union with the streams, That swell'd their pulses, and throbb'd back through hers. Oh! 'twas benign relief when my vex'd eye The mother murdering her infant is finely conceived, and most pathetically expressed. "I saw a woman, panting from her throes, Stretch'd in a lonely cabin on the ground, Pale with the anguish of her bitter hour, Whose sorrow she forgat not in the joy, Which mothers feel when a man child is born; Hers was an infant of her own scorn'd sex: It lay upon her breast;-she laid it there, By the same instinct, which taught it to find The milky fountain, fill'd to meet its wants Even at the gate of life,-to drink and live. Awhile she lay all passive to the touch Of those small fingers, and the soft, soft, lips Soliciting the sweet nutrition thence, While yearning sympathy crept round her heart: She felt her spirit yielding to the charm, sprang, And with collected might a moment stood, To hunt, to fish, or ramble on the hills, Till all was peace again within that dwelling, -His haunt, his den, his any thing but home! Peace? no-till the new comer were despatch'd Whence it should ne'er return, to break the stupor Of unawaken'd conscience in himself. "She pluck'd the baby from her flowing breast, And o'er its mouth, yet moist with Nature's beverage, Bound a thick lotus-leaf to still its cries; Hurried the damp earth over it; then fell "O that my mother had done so to me!' Then in a swoon forgot, a little while, Her child, her sex, her tyrant, and herself." p. 121-123. The scene which introduces us to the grandsire and the child is full of tenderness. There is an exquisite beauty that runs throughout the whole, but we have room only for the following highly poetical paragraph, which seems true to nature in every line. "The little one was dancing at his side, His own premeditated course pursued, And he, with breath and touch, were finding "Art thou a woman ?-so am I; and all That woman can be, I have been, or am; A daughter, sister, consort, mother, widow. Whiche'er of these thou art, O be the friend, Of one who is what thou canst never be! Look on thyself, thy kindred, home and country, "Thank Then fall upon thy knees, and cry, God, An English woman cannot be A SLAVE!” "Art thou a man?-Oh! I have known, have loved, And lost all that to woman man can be; power; Me thou canst neither wrong nor help;--what then? Go to the bosom of thy family, Gather thy little children round thy knees, Nor son nor daughther born within her empire, | tive parts of the sketch. I am aware, indeed, that Shall buy, or sell, or hold, or be a slave."-p. 256, 257. Throughout all these compositions there is a high tone of moral feeling uniformly kept alive. The muse in her excursions rarely fails to discover God, a future state, and the importance of those actions on which the felicities or miseries of a future state depend. But we must take our leave of this volume, strongly recommending it to the attention of our readers, and to all lovers of genuine poetry. By his former productions, Mr. Montgomery has attained on the Parnassian mount, a niche of considerable elevation. Here, as in his native element, sustained on buoyant pinions, he has again been enabled to soar and expatiate, and in the archives of his future fame, his "World before the Flood," will find a rival of its imperishable character, in the immortality of his Pelican Island. From the Same. IDOLATRY; a Poem, in four Parts. By the Rev. William Swan, Missionary at Selinginsk, and Author of Memoirs of Mrs. Paterson. 12mo. pp. 160. Glasgow. For Holdsworth, London. 1827. THE attachment which a man feels to the productions of his own mind, and the commendations which friends are willing to bestow, are generally sufficient reasons for the publication of a work. In the present instance the unanimous wish of friends is stated to have been the cause of publication. The author, however, has been relieved from the necessity of giving his own attestation to their partiality, since they may be considered as coming forward with Dr. Greville Ewing at their head, to declare their approbation of the poem. Dr. Ewing is the writer of the preface, where the occasion of the work, and the circumstances in which it is offered to the public, are briefly stated. In the beginning of the year 1826, Mr. Swan sent to his friend a picture of the Mongolian god, Shigemoni, surrounded by a group of inferior gods; and his chief motive in sending them home, was "to excite in the minds of Christians greater abhorrence of idols, and tenderer and more operative compassion for their deluded worshippers." The manuscript of the poem before us was received in the end of the same year: the following extract is taken from a letter which accompanied it: there are some who have no taste for any thing in the shape of poetry; to whom, therefore, it would be doing neither themselves nor mc a kindness to show them. But I am more afraid that those, who can appreciate true poetry, will be able to give me credit for little more than good intention; and in that case, the circumstance of my descriptions of idolatrous scenes, and reflections upon them, wearing a poetical dress, will be a real disadvantage, and take away all their chance of usefulness."-p. iii. It has been observed, that the motives of a writer must ever remain a secret, but the tendency of what he writes is capable of being as certained. Perhaps the evident tendency of a work is some proof of an author's design, whilst it certainly affords a confirmation of his professions. If the design appear praise-worthy, a candid and serious reader feels a disposition to approve, admire, and commend. If moreover, a perusal of the work excite admiration, the strength of that admiration grows in proportion as worthiness of intention appears in the writer: a discovery of virtuous motives in the whole plan and main sentiments, ought to exhilarate the reader's mind, to invest every beauty with additional charms, to rebuke severity even when exercised towards defects. On this ground the poem before us deserves a kind reception at the hands of the religious; for it appears to be the offspring of a compassionate mind, the effort of a Christian to animate the hearts and increase the zeal of his brethren in the cause of missions. "I have often, (he observes,) thought, that, were it possible to bring the idolatrous practices-the low depravity-the gross ignorance the unblushing sensuality-of the heathen actually under the eye of Christians in general, a very different degree of impression would be the effect; and a very different measure of exertion from that which obtains at present, would become the standard of sincere and consistent attachment to the Christian cause.— p. v. "I shall be glad if what I now send you shall have the effect to assist any one in acquiring a better knowledge of this part of Satan's usurpation,-(I mean this country,)-and impress a deeper conviction of the obligation, resting upon every Christian, to labour, according to his ability, to dispossess the enemy, and publish the news of freedom to his captives."-p. vi. The subject which Mr. Swan has chosen for his poem, and which has been in some measure forced upon him by his allotment in life, does not in our opinion derive from poetry much "The sheets herewith sent, may be consi- power to move pity in the mind of a sincere dered as an accompaniment to the pictures of and ardent Christian: the interest excited by the gods formerly transmitted to you; and, as spiritual degradation and misery, rises out of a my intention in sending these, was not merely simple knowledge of the matter; and wretchto gratify curiosity, but, by the actual exhibi- edness so horrible as that of heathen idolatry, tion of the objects of heathen worship, to ex- which presents features of deepest depravity, cite in the minds of Christians a deeper ab- and subordinates to itself whatever is earthly, horrence of the evils and absurdities of idolatry, sensual, devilish,' need only be stated in plain and to rouse them to greater zeal in the cause words, and it will communicate with the heart of Christianity--so it is with the same view I of a true Christian as speedily as through the presume to send you this production. Some of medium of poetical embellishment. Idolatry the friends to whom you have shown the gods, viewed in some aspects, as a state of apostacy may perhaps have their conceptions assisted from God, and as an infringement of his com upon the subject, by the perusal of the descrip-mand, is scarcely fit for the exercise of human green, taste: considered in such a view, whatever | The fields where childhood rov'd are always splendours of imagination may be directed towards it, the subject has a character far too dark and gloomy to reflect their brightness. But all have not that sensibility in respect to human misery, which is inflamed and hurt by a simple knowledge of human depravity; and it is necessary to please, in order to move and instruct such as are indifferent. We imagine it is for these characters that Mr. Swan has put his thoughts into "the shape of poetry." Topics are introduced in the poem which generally find an easy access to the heart. When the author enlarges on the impressions made by the objects of nature, the reader will probably recur, and perhaps with increased attachment, to Beattie's Minstrel. Much of what is said on the connexion of idolatry with sin, may be thus summed up, with reference to the idolaters, "In whom all turbulent vices were let loose; While conscience, with their impious creed accurst, Drunk, as with wine, had sanctified to them Although it would be wrong to claim for Mr. Swan that admiration which is due to one, in the riches of whose intellect we witness "the pomp and prodigality of heaven," yet there are many parts of his work characterized by vigour both of sentiment and language. There are forty-nine notes appended to the poem for the sake of illustration. They are instructive and important, and must interest all who feel with earnestness in the missionary cause. The following extract from note 27, page 134, is forcible, and affords an urgent motive to zeal and perseverance in propagating the gospel: "I have often been vexed and astonished to find that Christian authors, and some of them of the very first rank, express themselves so improperly on the subject of the present state and character of the world as contrasted with the past. How common is it for the Christian writer to congratulate himself and his readers that the times of ignorance have passed away -that "the light of science, and the purer and brighter light of religion, now illumines the world"-and so forth-as if Great Britain and one or two of the neighbouring countries were the whole world! It would be well for such writers to sit down and calculate the comparative extent and population of countries blessed with the light, and of those sitting in darkness even at this very day; and then let them set themselves with all their might to promote the shining of the light, instead of vaunting as if the darkness were already past." We give these two verses as a specimen of our author's manner. "Like the now mellowing-enchanting hues, The traveller sees spread o'er scenes passed by At early dawn, ere yet the sparkling dews Had vanish'd back into their native sky,Are the gay years of youth in memory's eye; And though the ever-widening tract between Proves that, though vivid still, they are not nigh, Rel. Mag.-No. 2. And brighter were its suns than ever since have been. "For then all things were lovely, and to me, We think that whoever reads this little work, though he may be pained by the miseries described, will be pleased with the author; that he will read a forcible lesson in the science of human nature, and be incited to adore the Supreme Being for the advantages which, in this country, are so full and so accessible. From the Winter's Wreath. THOUGHTS ON THE USES AND CONDUCT OF RELIGIOUS SOCIETY AND CONVERSATION. The counsellor of our doubts, the clarity of our minds, the emission of our thoughts, the exercise and improvement of what we meditate.-Jeremy Taylor. THESE words form the conclusion of a very beautiful summary of the benefits and blessings of true friendship; and we think them happily expressive of the motives which should regulate our communications with one another on that which is the noblest object of thought, and the best subject of meditation. It is scarcely possible to rate too highly the value of such communing among believers. "Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh," and that travellers who journey the same road, and partake of the same difficulties, and share in the same hopes, should never converse with one another of the "better country" to which they are going, of the Hand that guides them, and the Eye that watches for their deliverance, or of the mercy of Him who hath provided a rest for his people, would be a circumstance strange and anomalous indeed. It is not so. It could not have been so intended when the Almighty gave (along with affections. and desires) the power of speech to His intelligent creatures; and we cannot, therefore, consider any society in a safe or happy state in which the name of God and the things belonging to His kingdom appear an unwelcome and chilling intrusion. We cannot help believing that if one of the angel inhabitants of heaven were transported into the midst of such a society on earth, he would feel that the conversation there (however diversified by talent, or dignified by the results of learned inquiry) was barren, because unhallowed; and may we not imagine such a being returning to his own region in sorrowful amazement that the uses of thought, and speech, should, in any part of the universe of God, be so little understood?-When, after saying this with the deepest conviction of its truth, we turn (somewhat R |