they take it, it does not rest on Scripture foundation, and may seem to be contradicted by the experience of every mother, who, in the wayward fretfulness of her infant, finds constant exercise for that unweariable love which, seemingly on this very account, the Eternal Wisdom has so wonderfully implanted in her breast. Still, however, we hold that in poetry that may be allowed to be true which accords with general feeling.

There are yet a few points of no common importance to be noticed, in which we scruple not to rank the Lake Poets above all that have gone before them. In their writings the gentle and domestic virtues of an affectionate heart are uniformly exalted above the splendid and dangerous heroism which has been too generally the theme of other poets. In their writings women are drawn, as they deserve to be, lofty yet meek; patient and cheerful; dutiful, affectionate, brave, faithful, and pious; the pillars that adorn and support the temple of this life's happiness.

Playful and artless, on the summer wave

Sporting with bouyant wing, the fairy scene
With fairest grace adorning, but in woe,

In poverty, in soul-subduing toils,

In patient tending on the sick man's bed,
In ministerings of love, in bitterest pangs

Faithful and firm; in scenes where sterner hearts
Have crack'd, still cheerful and still kind.'-

Lastly, love is purified from the grossness of passion: it is idle to say, that this is an unattainable exaltation; all models should be perfect, though man remains imperfect, that in striving to reach what is impossible we may attain to what is uncommon. Love, with the Lake Poets, becomes what he should be, a devout spirit, purifying the soul, and worshipping God most in his most beauteous or his most noble work.

It would not impair the authority of the preceding remarks were we to admit that they do not apply with precisely the same force to the writings of all the Lake Poets. It appears to us that chance or a congenial mode of thinking has brought into intimate connection minds of very distinct powers and peculiarities. Thus a school of poetry has arisen of which all the members agree in some points, but differ in others; and ad even where they agree in kind they sometimes differ in degree. In examining their writings, therefore, we are to expect a general resemblance in all, which yet shall be neither so strong nor universal as to obliterate a peculiar character in each. Mr. Southey, for instance, appears to us more active, and playful, than those with whom his name is here associated metaphysical enough to gratify the vanity, without fa

tiguing the attention, of the common reader; rather sweetly developing the virtues of the heart, than curiously untwisting the subtleties of the mind; diffusing over his whole picture a colouring more grateful and soothing, but less contrasted with strong light and shade; more delightful and amiable, more curious and excursive, but, on the whole, perhaps possessing less of that touching and irresistible power which incidentally redeems the wilder eccentricities of his friends.

We now turn to the poem which has given rise to the preceding remarks, in which we think the defects and the beauties which have been noticed as characteristics of the school will be found to be strongly exemplified.

The Marquis Valdez, a nobleman residing on the sea coast of Grenada, has two sons, Alvar and Ordonio, of whom the first, being betrothed to Teresa, an orphan ward of his father, departs on his travels. At their parting Teresa had bound round his neck her own portrait, with a solemn promise from him

That, save his own, no eye should e'er behold it

Till his return.'

Ordonio, who had conceived a passion for Teresa, had been an unperceived witness of this interview, and when, at the expiration of three years, Alvar's return was expected, he sends three Morescoes to waylay and assassinate him. To Isidore, one of the three, whose life he had spared in battle, he states that the man they are to murder is betrothed to a lady whose affections were placed on himself, and whose honour had been surrendered to his passion; he informs him also of the picture and particularly insists on that as the assurance of his death. Alvar meets the assassins, and fights so bravely as to compel them to a parley; he offers Isidore his purse, which is rejected, he then exclaims,

I have a brother, and a promised wife,

Who make life dear to me; and if I fall

That brother will roam earth and hell for vengeance,
There was a likeness in his face to yours.

I ask'd his brother's name; he said Ordonio,
Son of Lord Valdez! I had well nigh fainted.
At length I said, (if that indeed I said it,
And that no spirit made my tongue its organ,)
That woman is dishonoured by that brother,
And he the man who sent us to destroy you.
He drove a thrust at me in rage. I told him
He wore her portrait round his neck. He looked,
Aye, just as you look now, only less ghastly j

MA

At length, recovering from his trance, he threw
His sword away, and bade us take his life—

It was not worth his keeping."

The discovery overcomes the spirit of Alvar; he surrenders. the pledge, which had lost its value, and promises absence and secrecy. Meantime his fate is variously reported, and Ordonio, assured of his death by the picture, roams the seas in a pretended search of him, and returns with an account of his having been lost in a storm. He then professes his love for Teresa, who still cherishes a romantic hope of Alvar's safety, and feels the strongest aversion to Ordonio. Some time elapses, during which Alvar serves under the heroic Maurice' in Belgium, and is taken prisoner. Upon his release, he determines to return home, still feeding a visionary hope that Teresa may be innocent, and determining, at all events, to awaken remorse in the breast of his brother. At this point the drama opens. Alvar lands in Grenada disguised as a Morescoe chief, and meets Teresa on the sea shore; he converses with her without disclosing himself, believing her innocent, yet convinced that she is married to Ordonio. At this interview was present Alhadra, the wife of Isidore, who had come to solicit Ordonio to rescue her husband from the Inquisition by attesting his Christianity; Ordonio consents, and Isidore is released. He is then desired by his benefactor to assist him in convincing Teresa of Alvar's death. He is to act the part of a wizard, and, at the end of a solemn scene of enchantment, to produce the picture as the last thing which Alvar grasped in death. Isidore declines the task, and recommends the stranger, who has already acquired the reputation of a sorcerer in the neighbourhood. Ordonio visits Alvar, who agrees to perform the part, and, in receiving instructions, becomes fully assured of Teresa's innocence, and that she is still unmarried. The scene commences with mysterious music and invocation to the spirit of the departed, but, at the conclusion, instead of the portrait, is presented the picture of the assassination of Alvar. Ordonio has just time to exclaim,

the traitor Isidore!

when the familiars of the Inquisition rush in. Valdez and Ordonio are freed, but Alvar is committed to a dungeon as a dealer in magic. Ordonio now determines on the death of Isidore and the stranger. He lures the former to a cavern and kills him. He returns to execute his revenge on the stranger, who had just been visited and recognized by Teresa. An animated scene ensues, in which Alvar discovers himself, and rouses in Ordonio the strongest feelings of remorse. In the midst of his agonies Alhadra enters with a band of Morescoes to avenge the death of her husband,

and, after some parley, on an alarm of Rescue and Valdez,' stabs Ordonio. She has just time to retire, when Valdez appears at the head of the armed peasantry, and the play concludes.

*

There is enough of incident and interest; events follow each other in rapid succession, and though there is room for sentiment, it is not made to supply the place of incident, or to bear the bur then of the play. Neither is there any deficiency of marked and accurately drawn character. Isidore is invested with the virtues and vices, which are so often found allied in the same mind, when oppression compels to habitual deceit, when the moral principles are unsettled; consenting at one time to be an assassin through gratitude, yet at another refusing to lend himself to a comparatively innocent artifice, when he had found himself once deceived by his benefactor. Alhadra too possesses some decisive features, exhibiting, as women often must in a state of semi-barbarism, and under the pressure of adversity, many of the virtues, many of the faults, and none of the g graces of the female character; faithful to her husband, watchful over her children, but implacable to her enemies. Her character gives us an opportunity of citing a remarkable instance of the strong powers which Mr. Coleridge possesses in depicting the mind under feelings of the most acute agony. She is describing her state of mind on discovering the murder of her husband:

Alhadra.-I crept into the cavern ;

'Twas dark and very silent. (wildly) What saidst thou?
No, no, I did not dare call Isidore,

Lest I should hear no answer. A brief while
Belike, I lost all thought and memory
Of that for which I came! After that pause,
O heaven! I heard a groan, and followed it;
And yet another groan, which guided me
Into a strange recess—and there was light,
A hideous light-his torch lay on the ground;
Its flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink.
I spake, and whilst I spake, a feeble groan

Came from that chasm! It was his last! his death-groan.

Naomi.-Comfort her, Allah!

Alhadra. I stood in unimaginable trance res

And agony that cannot be remembered,

Listening with horrid hope to hear a groan !

But I had heard his last-my husband's death-groan.

Ordonio however is evidently the poet's favourite, and we think

he has reason to be proud of him.

It is difficult to select any one

passage, which will give a full idea of the various yet not inconsistent peculiarities of his character; they are collected only (and this we think a merit) from a perusal of the whole poem. In the following extract however, where he is preparing himself for the murder of Isidore, he draws the prominent features of his character, omitting at the same time the brightest traits of it. The scene is in the cavern.

Ordonio. One of our family knew this place well.
Isidore.-Who? when, my Lord?

Ord. What boots it, who or when?

Hang up thy torch-I'll tell his tale to thee.
He was a man different from other men,
And he despis'd them, yet rever'd himself.
Isid. What, he was mad?

Ord. All men seem'd mad to him!
Nature had made him for some other planet,
And press'd his soul into a human shape
By accident or malice. In this world
He found no fit companion.

Isid.-Alas, poor wretch!
Madmen are mostly proud.

Ord. He walk'd alone,

And phantom thoughts unsought for troubled him.
Something within would still be shadowing out
All possibilities; and with these shadows

His mind held dalliance. Once, as so it happened,
A fancy cross'd him wilder than the rest:
To this, in moody murmur and low voice,
He yielded utterance, as some talk in sleep.
The man, who heard him-

Why didst thou look round ?-
Isid. I have a prattler three years old, my Lord!

In truth he is my darling. As I went

From forth my door, he made a moan in sleep-
But I am talking idly-pray proceed!

And what did this man?

Ord. With his human hand

He gave a substance and reality

To that wild fancy of a possible thing-
Well, it was done! (then very wildly)

Why babblest thou of guilt?

The deed was done, and it passed fairly off.

And he whose tale I tell thee-dost thou listen?

Isid.-I would, my lord, you were by my fireside,

I'd listen to you with an eager eye,

Tho' you began this cloudy tale at midnight.
But I do listen-pray proceed, my lord.