Which slighted merit feels, when envious pride
Thrusts it aside to build th' unworthy up,
Now, now assert it; from a Master turn,
Who turns from thee, who before thee exalts
Thy meaner brethren, Peter, James, and John:
On them his partial smile for ever beams,
They have his love, his confidence, his heart;
Of them revolting he might well complain,
Of thee he cannot; thine were just revenge:.
He is no traitor, who resents a wrong;
Who shares no confidence, can break no trust.
Bid conscience then be still, let no weak qualms
Damp thy reviving spirit; but when night
Wraps her dark curtain round this busy world,
Come thou to Caiphas,

The remainder of the book is occupied in the narration of the Last Supper, in which there is almost a literal adherence to the Gospel of St. John. To have materially altered . the language of Scripture on such a subject, or to have tinged with the hues of fancy, events so solemn and momentous, so accurately related and known, would have been highly injudicious. All that was left to the poet, therefore, were the charms of versification, and the liberty of retouching and heightening those parts of the picture that seemed to demand more powerful expression. A most

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pleasing portrait of our Saviour, and which combines the chaste simplicity of Raphael with the sweetness of Corregio, is thus finished from the outline of Scripture:

All eyes

Were center'd on the Saviour's face divine,
Which with the brightness of the Godhead mix'd
Traces of human sorrow, and display'd

The workings of a mind, where mercy seem'd
Struggling to reconcile some mortal wrong
To pardon and forbearance: Such a look
Made silence sacred; every tongue was mute;
E'en Peter's zeal forbore the vent of words,
Or spent itself in murmurs half supprest.
At length the meek Redeemer rais'd his eyes,
Where gentle resignation, tempering grief,
Beam'd grace ineffable on all around.

After an awful and pathetic address of Christ to his disciples, and an invocation to the Father in their behalf, the poet thus beautifully describes their effect.

So spake the Lord, and with these gracious words
His faithful remnant cheer'd; for soft they fell
As heav'n's blest dew upon the thirsty hills,
And sweet the healing balm which they distill'd
On sorrow-wounded souls.

NUMBER XX.

Itene maledetti al vostro regno,
Regno di pene, e di perpetua morte:
E siano in quegli a voi dovuti chiostri
Le vostre guerre, et i trionfi vostri

TASSO.

THE necessity of strictly adhering to the events, and frequently to the very words of Scripture, must unavoidably damp the excursive spirit of the poet, and compel him to the task of mere imitation. In the last book, little could with propriety be added to the circumstantial detail of the Evangelist, who, in a style abounding in the most exquisite simplicity and pathos, has faithfully recorded every word and action of his divine Master: but the treason of Judas, the subject of the third, admitting more embellishment from the stores of imagination, accordingly presents the

reader with much novel imagery, and much dramatic and epic machinery. The soliloquies of Iscariot, though rather too metaphysical, are well conceived, and the debates of the Sanhedrim are animated and eloquent, whilst the harangue of Judas when proposing the betrayal of Christ, is throughout nervous, and glows with Shaksperian energy and phrase. The fiery and bigoted Caiphas forms an excellent poetic character; his sentiments-are inflamed with the fiercest enthusiasm and zeal, and his gestures betray the wild agitation of his soul, rendered still more striking from the mild and rational opposition of Nicodemus, whose philanthropy and tolerating policy serve but to increase the storm which rages in the bosom of this implacable priest.

On the breaking up of the unhallowed meeting, the poet has admirably conceived and described Satan and his peers occupying the seats of its persecuting members.

Clear the hall,

Yield up your seats, ye substituted fiends;
Hence, minor demons! give your masters place!
And hark! the King of Terrors speaks the word,

He calls his shadowy princes, they start forth,
Expand themselves to sight and throng the hall,
A synod of infernals: Forms more dire
Imagination shapes not, when the wretch,
Whom conscience haunts, in the dead hour of night,
Whilst all is dark and silent round his bed,
Sees hideous phantoms in his feverish dream,
That stare him into madness with fix'd eyes
And threat'ning faces floating in his brain.

Mammon, having prospéred in his attempt upon Iscariot, Satan in a speech of exultation. and triumph bestows the most lavish encomiums on that spirit, and decrees an ovation in honour of his success. The following descrip tion in which the minstrels are represented as chanting their hymn, is given in verse of very harmonious structure, and ir a vein of the purest poetry; the concluding lines are peculiarly excellent.

From either side the throne,

Upon the signal, a seraphic choir

In equal bands came forth; the minstrels strike
Their golden harps; swift o'er the sounding strings
Their flying fingers sweep; whilst to the strain,
Melodious voices, though to heavenly airs

Attun'd no longer, still in sweet accord
Echo the festive song, now full combin'd,