And now a fire, that cover'd all the mount, For Nature felt her God, and every flower Her wild career amid the sportive scene: Scented the breeze, that fann'd their rustling leaves: O'er golden sands, meand'ring in its course And now Gabriel addresses the Saints for the last time, assuring them that this Paradise Is but their passage to a brighter scene, To the right hand of God, and call them hence He then springs on the wing, and with the swiftness of the meteor disappears. Thus concludes a Poem, which for grandeur and sublimity of design and execution will assuredly rank high in the estimation of the critic, and to those who combine religious fervour with poetic enthusiasm afford delight of the most exquisite relish. Though Mr. Cumberland has been compelled in many parts to adhere with scrupulous accuracy to circumstances and events well known, yet has a considerable portion of the work been devoted to the splendour and novelties of fiction, to the delineation of beings beyond the limits of our habitable sphere, and, though the author had a model that might guide his efforts, yet were the merits of that model, its sublimity and beauty, so transcendent, that to place by its side a production that would not suffer by the comparison, certainly required the most arduous exertions of genius, the most curious felicities of imitation. If any general objection can be made, it is that, in the design, sufficient compass has not been assumed; that the creations of fancy bear not an adequate proportion to the narrative of Scripture, and that consequently the deep solemnity and severe tone of the poem are not fully relieved by the charms of description and the play of imagery. In Milton the beauties of Nature are freely introduced, and dwelt upon and, could Mr. Cumberland have so arranged his plan as to have admitted description of this kind, he would greatly have enhanced its value and the variety of its attraction. As it is, the only piece in the purely descriptive line we can recollect throughout the whole poem is the picture of paradise, in the eighth book, and which is finished in a style that induces regret at the poet's inattention to this resource. It is true, that in the work as now constituted, owing to its slight digression from the Gospel record, such introduction would be impertinent: but, had the outline been rendered more extensive, episodical parts must necessarily have been in cluded, and in these the imagery alluded to might judiciously have been employed, and would have operated the effect required. Natural History has lately received so many accessions, that the poetic genius, who should assiduously cultivate this branch of science, would from its sources alone be able to throw an interesting novelty over his productions, and the similies of an epic poem would no longer exhibit a tissue of hereditary and servile imagery. Few literary men of the present day have written upon more various and contrasted subjects than the Author of Calvary, and it will tend strongly to impress upon the public mind a favourable idea of his genius, when it shall reflect, that in the course of four or five years he has presented it with bold and spirited imitations of Milton and Fielding, two authors who have no point in contact, and that his Calvary and his Henry have the raciness and vigour of originals, and will probably descend to remote ages in conjunction with their prototypes. Should we now advert to his numerous Comedies and Essays, effusions of great VOL. I. Нн |