"FESTUS. He wrote a poст. STUDENT. What was said of it? FESTUS. Oh, much was said-much more than understood;

One said, that he was mad; another, wise;

Another, wisely mad. The book is there.

Judge thou among them.

STUDENT. Well, but, who said what? FESTUS. Some said that he blasphemed; and these men lied

To all eternity, unless such men

things thus

Is as foul witches to cut up old moons
Into new stars. Some never rise above
A pretty fault, like faulty dahlias;
And of whose best things it is kindly
said,

The thought is fair; but, to be perfect,

wants

A little heightening, like a pretty face With a low forehead. Do thou more

than such,

Or else do nothing."

And he is instructed that the poet

must judge of himself by a high

dense or explain them. Lucifer himself, it seems, follows the example of the "sons of God" in the antediluvian chronicle, and becomes enamoured of a daughter of earth-Elissa. A period of unknown duration passes over: within this period the tempted is first borne by the tempter into infinite space, then down to the regions of the damned; and appears once more on earth, to describe to Clara, his first love, with a somewhat prolix tediousness of iteration, the details of his supernal and infernal expeditions. Dramatically considered, there can be but one opinion as to the nature of these repetitions; but it is necessary to remember that the metaphysical and moral "design" is carried forward throughout. There is a forward march of the mind in the circling uniformity of the plot, just as the vast progression of our planetary system co-exists with the monotony of the orbital motion of the bodies it consists of. And hence an additional proof of the justness of our preliminary remark, that a poem, assuming, however vaguely, the dramatic form, must conform to dramatic proprieties, in order to avoid offending the reader at every deviation from them.

We scarcely care nakedly to state the sequel of Elissa's history. When we next find her, she seems to have forgotten the existence of the being to whom she had vowed eternal fidelity, and to be wholly and devotedly enamoured of-Festus himself! who, on his side, as completely and madly returns her passion! At the end of a glowing love-scene, Lucifer enters-is repudiated with horror by Elissa-denounced by Festus; and then, with a single breath, Lucifer lays the maiden a lifeless corpse at her lover's feet ! Yet in the very next scene Festus appears calm, and argues with the fiend in a strain which certainly discloses no outward symptoms of passion, rage, or vengeance !

The end approaches. Festus sits, a king, throned above all nations. The lovers and friends of his earlier days throng to his footstool and to his arms. Lucifer is there, and urges his temptations. The summit of earthly ambition is attained; and yet Festus is found overwhelmed with doubt, horror, and dread-longing, yet fearing, to die. The scene changes. Lucifer

appears once more before the Almighty to signify his triumph; but is dismissed to Hades, to wait the divine will during the earth's sabbath. Into that millenial sabbath we are also conducted, and there we find (it were hard to say with what colour of justice) the now purified Festus present. He is borne by an archangel to Hades, there to be shewn the humiliated spirit of temptation grovelling as low as before he had insolently towered. Of the new earth Festus is once more an inhabitantone of the quick at the final judgment. His place is assigned him (unaccountably again) among the saved; and the poem closes with a revelation of the "Heaven of heavens," in which the glorified Festus joins for ever in the great Hallelujah chorus of praise to the God and Father of the universe.

Whether one whose last words in the "unrenewed" earth were of blasphemy almost-at least of doubt and despair; whose abhorrence of himself was coupled with no confident trust in the merits of the Saviour of sinners;whose experience of life had only seemed to show him the power of death, and the impotence of good, as far as regarded himself; whether one, we say, thus "unredeemed" in the scriptural sense of the term, could justly be finally floated, as it were, by some influence outside himself into a blessedness such as is reserved for the saints of God alone, is a question which the poet must settle with the Universalists. We seek not to raise a discussion here, our business being with the poet as a poet and a dramatist. In the latter capacity it will be conceded that he is unsuccessful; he has not only aspired too high, and attempted too much, but he has been unskilful and incompetent within the usual range; and would probably as signally fail in a five-act play of ordinary length, and on an ordinary subject, as he has in his present monsterdrama of "Life, Death, and Immortality."

But, as a POET, we think we have shown with equal clearness of proof, that Mr. Bailey has achieved a success -a success of no ordinary magnitude. In richness of imagery and aptness of illustration, we venture to affirm that he has no competitor in modern times. His learning is profound and various, and lies beneath many an expression

carelessly thrown over it, and needing the raising of the hand to exhibit it fully. Of the poetical spirit he is full to overflowing. The beauties of nature, art, and character, clasp him with mingled radiance like a rainbow; and the influence of an exalted morality touches and tinges every thing which passes before him, till the scenery he paints glows with the heavenly warmth of an Italian sunset. Can we deny to emanations such as these the designation of POETRY? To do so, were to decide the question as to the final departure of the muse to heaven; for Genius itself may despair, if Mr. Bailey be refused his title to a place in its temple.

We confine ourselves, it will be seen, to the general question of the author's ability. The right is reserved to us of making our comments and cavils freely. It would not be worth while to go into particulars, were the merits not so dazzling as to throw the defects into strong relief. The greatest and most pervading of these is prolixity; and, perhaps, of all the mistakes into which a poet_especially a dramatist -can fall, this is the most fatal to popularity. Sublimity may be too astronomical in its times and distances. The sun itself fatigues the eye in climates where the day is six months long. Festus is, according to the calculations of ordinary human patience, interminable. It would cut up into a dozen readable poems. Nay, more, the dose of prolixity is in too many instances administered in the least palatable way by repetition. should be glad to have it ascertained by any one who would undertake the Herculean task, how often "the stars" are introduced as an image. We stopped after counting five hundred; and a large section of the poem was to come. Young himself, moving amongst them as his acknowledged theme, was more judicious. He occasionally drew a kindly veil over their glories, and let us feel their absence, in order to render their re-appearance more welcome. The Great Constructor of the universe himself has made allowance for the monotony of brilliancy; and withdraws his fires periodically from the vision of mortals. But Mr. Bailey keeps up his "starlight" unwinkingly from first to last, and spares us not a nebula in a single sentence or scene throughout.

We

If we were inclined to follow the example of the wits, with Pope and Swift at their head, who fell foul of poor Blackmore, and paraded his "Bathos" catalogically, we might make an amusing list of objects to which the heavenly bodies are likened; but such studied ridicule is beside our purpose. Our aim is to point out faults, not to expose the delinquent.

There are striking instances, too, strange to say, of a bad and even vulgar taste, sparingly scattered, it is true, but visible to the minute observer. Will the reader believe that a man is made to say to Lucifer, when he has avowed himself the devil

The truth being, that God placed man in the garden expressly " to keep it and to dress it;" exhibiting thereby the necessity, even in Paradise, of an object and an occupation to the completeness of human felicity.

He

There is a good deal of happy wordcoinage issued by Mr. Bailey. sometimes, however, passes a piece which we hesitate to admit as current. Festus, in an amorous mood, speaks of the gifts of nature as eonferred for a sole purpose-that of administering to sensual gratification. "These ears," he says, were given me "to list my loved one's voice;"

"These lips to be divinized by her kiss."

The ear of taste revolts from the discordant novelty.

We shall end our short catalogue of objections with pointing to a metrical impropriety-for it can scarcely be called a solecism which modern English writers are found very commonly to commit; we mean that of separating the syllables in which the two vowels i and o follow each other. Tennyson has frequently done it, at least in his earlier poems; and the practice is common in the "Cockney" as well as the "Yankee" school. It is wrong. No eminent or correct writer has ever countenanced it. We shall adduce two instances from the same page; and frequent examples

Enough, however, of this minute criticism. It is, after all, but analyzing the very small residuum left after the process of sublimation. The general thoughts, sentiments, and diction of the poets come off pure even after such tests, and flow into our hearts in their full refinement and strength. Admitting that some of the brightest of them (to use another of the author's own favourite images), are somewhat nebulous, and present no disk, still criticism itself must feel the power of the "starlight" it stands beneath, and in many instances acknowledge that the faintness or confusion arises rather from its own limited powers of vision, than from the want of grandeur and beauty above him. It should be borne in mind that our quotations have been made throughout rather to explain the story than illustrate its beauties; and no attempt has been made to marshal the array, so as to give an undue estimate of the general merits of the poem. Mr Bailey must be held the first of our living poets, as far as imagination is concerned. The same causes, it is true, which, at a period more favourable to the reputation of a bard, precluded Shelley from popularity, have operated, and will operate, in the case of this author. The very richness of the imagery has concealed the presence of those great landmarks of human interest which are known and recognized by every The heart cannot force its way through so rank a vegetation of beauty. It becomes entangled; then fatigued; and ends by refusing its sympathy where it admits its homage to be due. Hence, we repeat, Mr. Bailey (at least as he stands connected with Festus), will never be popular; but he will always command the respect of the educated and refined scholar, and claim the admiration of those hearts which are strung to respond to the higher harmonies of the poetic nature.