REVIEW. The Course of Time; a Poem in Ten | worthy motives. Having no knowledge Books. By ROBERT POLLOK, A.M. of the author's name till we heard it in Third Edition. Price 10s. 6d. Edin- an indistinct and general rumour, and burgh: Blackwood. London: Cano information of the rise, progress, and dell. termination of his unprefaced and unpatronized poem, till we had it put into our hands; we read it as we shall review it, without suffering ourselves to be affected by any preconceived notions or cherished partialities. THIS poem has the indubitable stamp of genius. It is an eagle's flight towards the sun; and having ascended far above the ordinary sphere of song, into those regions which a few only of the most gifted of our race have penetrated, his Mr. Pollok's performance is of so movements are not often characterised lofty a character, that almost every by those irregularities which bespeak reader will immediately bring it into weakness or weariness, producing cy-comparison with Milton; both because cles and epicycles, and circumvolutions, it is essentially religious, and because if which render it doubtful whether he it ought not to be considered as in style can sustain the unusual elevation; but and manner a direct imitation of the he swims and soars along, as in his Paradise Lost, it infallibly reminds us native element, and as if accustomed to of our immortal bard. Our opinion the purity and sunshine of brighter with regard to this point must be deterskies. mined by a careful consideration of the general plan of these two noble epics, and of particular passages in each, which will allow of being compared or contrasted. By pursuing this inquiry, we shall have an opportunity of bringing the new poem more immediately into view. It is remarkable that, having at once attracted all eyes by his ascent, the youthful bard returned not to enjoy the applauses of earth; but immediately after producing what has so astonished the world, seemed as it were to continue his flight, till springing across the boundary of time, he passed from mortal gaze into the glories of that world of blessedness, where neither the incense of flattery can tempt, nor the breath of envy and detraction annoy, the perfected and happy spirit. The merits of the poem itself, the critical period of the author's decease, the extraordinary and instantaneous popularity it has acquired, and more especially the religious character which it bears, furnish so many reasons for assigning an unusual space to the review of this production. We shall feel at the greater liberty to expatiate on its merits, and to examine its defects, since the exposure of neither the one nor the other can now affect the writer, though they will tend to adjust his claims to distinction; and since we can incur no suspicion of being influenced by un The general plan and method of the Paradise Lost and the Course of Time are widely different. On the former we need not dilate; the latter is too limited to require many words. Milton, in recounting the sad story of human transgression, with its disastrous consequences, did not content himself with a simple recital of the tale, or a few pathetic appeals upon the subject of the fall, and the displeasure of Almighty God; but, taking a wider range, his daring muse adventured into unknown regions, brought into action hosts of mighty intelligences, which were either spoken of occasionally in Scripture, or represented in the mythological fictions of antiquity, and devised unwonted combinations of imagery and thought. The Paradise Lost is a book of various knowledge: it exhibits a mind stored P fundities of reason and the sublimities of fancy. Milton has eminently succeeded, and the success he has acquired has shewn the skill as well as grandeur of the scheme. We grant that, however perfect the imagery in itself, however well sustained and beautifully combined, however magnificent and glowing, it would have been an incumbrance on the poem, and incompatible with its true design, and with its powerful effect, had the fiction impeded rather than aided the general progress of the tale; but while it is made to aid its progress and excite a deeper interest, by bringing all worlds and beings into connection with the history, that which is most splendid in execution, seems at the same time to be most perfect in conception. Laying the foundation, therefore, in truth itself, Milton has reared a mighty superstructure of the richest materials, which, like a colossal column, seen afar off under a clear sky, must attract by its solitary loftiness, and like the enduring pyramid, is destined to co-exist with time itself. with the treasures of literature and sci- | for any poet less than Milton, who ence, and capable of making use of seemed capacitated to explore the prothem all at will, and of flinging over the vast tracks of human thought the pure and glowing light of a vivid imagination. Even to read this wonderful production with advantage, requires no ordinary acquaintance with the fables of mythology, the facts of history, and the principles of revelation; while it still instructs by its wisdom, and enchants by its beauty. The dulce and the utile are every where combined; we must be dull indeed not to be fascinated, and insusceptible indeed not to be improved. Sweetness and sublimity are so wonderfully associated, that here seems to be whatever is most affecting in the pathetic poets, whatever is most majestic in poets of stately gait and march, whatever is most brilliant in the masters of fancy, and whatever is most correct in the teachers of truth. The Shakspeares and the Drydens of Britain, the Homers and the Pindars of Greece, the Horaces and the Virgils of Rome, seem to wait around the ascending chariot of Milton, like the princes of provinces around the throne of their universal potentate; while he dips his own unborrowed pencil in the brightest colours of description, and quaffs the nectar of immortality. We are aware that objections have been raised against the scheme of Milton, in bringing the machinery of fiction and mythology into contact with the story of the fall; and we have no hesitation in admitting, that probably in any other hands it must have failed. The difficulties of managing such a strange and somewhat unnatural combination are obvious, and must antecedently have been regarded as insurmountable. Conversations held between the highest order of beings, good and bad; contentions carried on above this "visible, diurnal sphere," between angelic and demon spirits; councils, and contrivances, and actions, each appropriate, peculiar, and superhuman; results to be described, which should be felt to the very extremities of creation, and to the remotest period of conceivable and inconceivable duration; were no subjects Nothing, however, can be more inartificial than the construction of Mr. Pollok's poem. There are no difficult combinations, no superhuman beings, no collateral and invisible workings and counterworkings of power to manage. The commonest poetic capabilities could have framed the plan, if plan it can be called, which is in fact without variety, and comes upon us with no pretensions. It is, in fact, like a long piece of music, without any change of key. He has not, therefore, in the construction of his poem, given himself the opportunity of displaying the skill of a practised and first-rate poet, in awakening a perpetual interest in new and unheard-of events, and in the variety of ever shifting movements. This is an opportunity which, in our opinion, he has lost or unwisely neglected. There is a curiosity in the human mind, which in the perusal of a work of fiction or fancy, demands to be gratified; there are passions in the human heart which seek be finer than the choice and expression of the subject which he has treated. That subject is expressed in the title page, "The Course of Time." It was a bold and magnificent idea, for the poet to presuppose time, with all its years and events, to have passed away; and to undertake to look back upon them, for the purpose of description, from the depths of a future eternity. The very conception is so sublime, that we almost question whether any one could have so formed or dared to attempt its execution, who was not consciously capacitated to perform the new, difficult, and hitherto unimagined task. to be employed: when these claims are | strikingly inferior to our greatest poet; almost entirely disregarded, some natu- we must do justice to the memory of ral and just feeling of disappointment Mr. Pollok by saying, that nothing can ensues. However deep the interest otherwise excited, it seems to us a radical defect in a performance of this kind, not to attempt the comparatively easy task of making it deeper still, by uniting with simple history or pointed appeal the entertainment of allegory. While clearly distinguished, they may, as we have many proofs, be advantageously combined. In lieu of all the varied and fascinating machinery of Milton's epic, we have in Mr. Pollok nothing but the simple and common-place fiction of two youthful inhabitants of heaven walking "high on the hills of immortality," and as they were conversing together, and looking over the celestial battlements, they observe the approach of another spirit, who at length is received by them with "the embrace sincere of holy love,” and “with comely greeting kind." After a splendid description of what he witnessed, in his flight to the celestial world, which we shall have occasion hereafter to notice, he solicits information of the happy beings whose society he has joined. They, professing to be, like himself, but newly arrived, and comparatively ignorant, propose to accompany him to an ancient and renowned bard of earth, who, they state, frequently instructs and entertains the youth of heaven, who gather round him as he sits on a little mount. They accordingly repair to the spot, and this emparadised bard (Milton, of course) relates the progress of past events, from the creation to the end of the world. Nothing could have redeemed the tale of facts so generally familiar from dulness, but the forcible manner in which it is recounted, the striking ilInstration of the great principles of eternal truth it contains, and the glowing and highly poetic descriptions with which it is interspersed. While, however, we cannot but deem the slender fiction on which the whole story is suspended as poor, and, considering the high occasion, by no means in keeping with the general sublimity of the poem With frequent clusters, ripe to heavenly itself, and therefore, in this respect, In furnishing now a more detailed account of the poem, we shall naturally be led to the second point of comparison between the present extraordinary author and the most illustrious poet of Britain; namely, the respective merits of particular passages. We must premise, in general, that the superiority of the latter is decisive with regard both to the number and quality of beautiful and simply elegant descriptions. In Mr. Pollok's poem these are rather sparingly distributed; and though there are fine expressions, and some detached pieces of great excellence, we are not aware of any that can fairly rival, or indeed well compare, with the inimitable portions of Paradise Lost of a similar character. The best, and there are in fact few others that aim at simple beauty, occurs early, and is the description of the "ancient bard's" seat, to whom the three spirits repaired, as we have mentioned, for instruction on subjects of the deepest interest :- "Fit was the place, most fit for holy Upon a little mount, that gently rose, head A laurel tree, of lustiest, eldest growth, wide Not fruitless, as on earth, but bloomed, and rich taste Spread its eternal boughs, and in its arms And round his sacred hill, a streamlet walked, Warbling the holy melodies of heaven. The hallowed zephyrs brought him incense sweet; And out before him opened, in prospect long, The river of life, in many a winding maze Descending from the lofty throne of God, That with excessive glory closed the scene." pp. 17, 18. The Vision of the Heavenly World; to which is prefixed a Memoir of Mrs. Eliza Leslie, who died at Monghyr, Hindostan, April 8, 1826, with Extracts from her Correspondence. By ANDREW LESLIE. pp. lxiv. 111. Price 3s. Wightman and Cramp. THE bereaved husband and mourning relatives of the excellent, but departed female, whose brief memoir is now before us, have participated in our tenderest sympathies, whose renewed and more abiding expression we find claimed, while we pensively turn over the pages of this memorial of Christian character and conjugal affection; and we are anxious to meet this claim in a manner at once acceptable to those whose relation or intimacy may be supposed to impart intense interest to this work, and serviceable to others, whose highest advantage its perusal is well adapted to promote. Mrs. Leslie did not, indeed, live to complete her twenty-first year; yet she lived long enough to exemplify, through divine grace, the efficacy of Christian principles in some of the most important relations of life. Trained up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, under the vigilant and fostering care of parental tenderness, she continued surrounded by the endearments of home till about her twelfth year, when she was transferred to the residence of an esteemed relative, to whom, from this circumstance, she became an object of increasing pious solicitude; and where it appears to have been the good pleasure of God, in her 14th or 15th year, effectually to have drawn her to himself. When she had completed her 18th year, she publicly professed her attachment to the Saviour of sinners, and was baptized at Coventry, by her honoured father. Mr. Leslie had for some time previously been acquainted with the excellences of her character, and as he was now about to leave our shores for the continent of India, as a missionary, he solicited her to become his companion in the sacred and arduous undertaking. To this proposal, with the concurrence of her friends, she consented; and though she keenly felt the parting pang, and the far distant separation, yet her letters, whenever she adverts to the subject, uniformly attest that she never repented the determination to which she considered herself to have been directed by the providence of God. In October, 1823, Mr. and Mrs. Leslie embarked at Portsmouth, for the destined sphere of their benevolent exertions; and how much Mrs. L.'s mind was engaged in the great object before her, may be inferred from the following statement: you become acquainted with all the most intimate joys and sorrows of your poor far distant child; but before this sheet can reach you, the various circumstances which may now interest or agitate my mind will most likely be in a measure forgotten, and be succeeded by others perhaps more pleasing or more distressing in their nature. Well, our greatest our only real consolations arise from knowing that all our times are in the hands of our infinitely wise and compassionate heavenly Father, that every stroke we feel is inflicted or permitted by Him, and that all things shall work together for good to them that love God; and these consolations, and others similar to them neither few nor small,' are not confined to any place or circumstances. May you, my dearest parents in England, and we in India, continue to drink largely of these rich streams under every trial and affliction with which we may be visited below; until we shall (as we trust) exchange them for that river above, whose waters make glad the city of our God. India is now like a large hospital. A peculiarly trying fever (which in many cases, particularly higher up in the country, is succeeded by cholera morbus) is now raging in almost every staThey arrived at their station, Mon- tion. In Monghyr I do not think a dozen ghyr, July 17, 1824; and from the next Europeans have escaped it. Mr. Leslie extract it will be seen with what ardour and myself are at present among that fathis excellent female immediately ap-voured number; but I am expecting an plied herself to fulfil the duties, and attack of it in one or both of us every hour." surmount the difficulties of her situation : Being of a literary turn of mind, her reading was very extensive and diversified; and feeling a peculiar degree of pleasure in the acquirement of language, she not only retained her knowledge of the French which she had learned at Battersea, but shortly after we had entered upon our voyage, she, in addition to Hindoosthanee, commenced the Hebrew, and had actually read through the whole of the Psalms, and the greater part of Genesis, before ever we touched the shores of India." p. xiii. "On our arrival she lost no time in attending particularly to the language of the people among whom she had come to dwell; and so speedily did she surmount its difticulties, that in much less than a year she could not only transact, with the most perfect ease, all the concerns of life, but she managed the affairs of twelve schools, regularly examined the children, and often talked with them and others on the great subject of religion." p. xiv. Nor, amidst these diversified engagements, does she appear to have been unmindful either of her own spiritual concerns, or of the interests of her be loved connections whom she had left in England, as the reader will be much gratified to perceive, when he peruses the account which is given of her diary, and the acceptable specimen of her correspondence. We give a few sen tences from the latter: "Oh! if my letter could fly as fast as my thoughts and affections, how soon should p. xlii. Soon, indeed, was she called to realize that important change to which she so piously refers. The above letterbears date August 25, 1825, and on the 8th of April, in the following year, she was seized with the cholera morbus, by which, in a few hours, she was removed from this world. A happy serenity of mind, arising from humble dependence on Jesus Christ, characterized the solemn closing scene. That this trying event has been attended with much spiritual instruction to the mind of the surviving husband, the latter part of this volume affords ample and satisfactory evidence.Though he was not permitted immediline whi separates the visible from ately with her to overstep the boundary the invisible world, yet in the exercises of his mind, and by the aids of revelation, he has been assisted to regard this affecting providence as a sort of Pisgah, to whose summit he was called, that, for his personal consolation and |