sight of the Amphitheatre, within and around which the multitudes of Antioch are assembled to witness the sacrifice of the Christians. They come! they come! the universal yell Of execration follows them along, They enter, and among them Margarita,-though it appears that Olybius has determined she shall not die, and has devised a means of saving her, in case she does not herself relent on seeing the sufferings of the rest. After again urging them in vain to renounce their faith, and live, Olybius dismisses them to their respective places and modes of execution;-some to be cast to wild beasts, some to the stake, and others to the block. Among the latter Margarita is placed, attired in the bridal robes which had been placed in her prison by order of Olybius with far other views. She goes forth chaunting a wild and impassioned strain, depicting the visions that at this awful moment rush on her enraptured imagination. The lyrical effusion is undoubtedly the most poetical passage in the work. The catastrophe of the poem is now related-not witnessed on the scene. Different messengers enter, relating the various deaths of the sufferers; and the renouncement of his faith by one of them, whose vainglorious boastings had prepared us to expect this want of steady resolution. At last an officer enters, announcing the death of Margarita.—It appears that Macer, an officer of Olybius, had received orders to watch the execution, and to save Margarita in case she did not herself falter at the sight of the surrounding horrors-her execution being decreed as the last; but that, on hearing, from the cries of the people, that her father was approaching, she had frustrated this intention by rushing to the executioner, and prevailing on him to perform his office on her without delay. The poem ends by Olybius renouncing the sceptre and purple, and the whole of the citizens of Antioch being converted to Christianity as by a miracle, at the sight of Margarita's death. The catastrophe, and indeed this last scene altogether, is very indifferently and inefficiently managed. In particular, the sudden and simultaneous conversion of the whole multitude, who had the instant before been rending the air with shouts of exultation at the scene before them, is most unnatural and misplaced. We have considered it due to the talents and reputation of Mr. Milman to give this somewhat detailed abstract of his new work; and have made it the vehicle for bringing before the reader some of the most poetical passages to be met with in the volume. Having done this, with great regard for the general character of Mr. Milman, as a poet, we have the following objections to offer to his present poem, which we cannot help considering as inferior both to his Fall of Jerusalem, and to Fazio. In the first place, the story of this poem is most unfortunately chosen-supposing it to be offered merely as a poem. The highest possible poetical powers could not have rendered such a story capable of exciting general sympathy; and the best that Mr. Milman has done for it, is to make it engender a confused and fatiguing feeling of painful and reluctant pity towards all the characters engaged in it. It includes scarcely a touch of real pathos, because it excites no spark of either genuine sympathy or genuine anti pathy-not even towards the martyr herself; for it nowhere appears that she embraces the new faith in preference to the old one, from any high and ennobling sense of natural duty, or because it is calculated to make her the better fulfil her appointed station on the earth; but simply because she believes that it will gain her a better station in heaven. Even when her poor father (who is the only person in the poem whose sorrows at all move us) is urging her to forswear her new faith, or at least to " dissemble-any thing but die and leave me," all she has to reply is who disown their Lord On earth, he will disown in heaven." and when he replies to this 66 Hard heart Credulous of all but thy fond father's sorrows!" we scarcely feel that he is reproaching her wrongfully. Indeed, Mr. Milman has hitherto been truly unfortunate in his female characters. Even Bianca, in Fazio, (which is incomparably his best work,) even Bianca, with all her restless and passionate fondness for her lord, is but a selfish and unamiable sort of person,-for she evidently loves him, not for his sake, but her own; and would infinitely rather see him dead at her feet, than living and happy at the feet, or even in the thoughts of another. Such a character is any thing rather than a revival (as it professes to be) of those of the Elizabethan drama. Mr. Milman may in vain seek for such a character in Fletcher, or Ford-least of all in Shakspeare. There is no such thing. Even the Virgin Martyr, in Massinger's play of that name (which is evidently the prototype of the present poem)-even SHE has no doting father to leave childless and friendless behind her; for though the plot of that drama is liable to all the objections which apply to the Martyr of Antioch, Massinger had the judgment to make his heroine alone in the world, and, moreover, to endow her with a kind of half-human love for her ideal image of the Saviour, whose presence she is perpetually yearning after. But for this, and the deeds of charity and beneficence which she performs, she would, in spite of all her calm and noble resolution, go to heaven without that portion of our admiration and sympathy which she now carries with her. With respect to the other characters (excepting Callias), we take no care or interest whatever about them. The only one who acts any thing like a prominent part is Olybius; and what can we feel for the disappointed passion of a man who exultingly condemns his fellow beings to torture and death, because they differ from him in faith? The author, it is true, has endeavoured to obviate this objection, by making him do all in compliance with the edicts of his Emperor, and in fulfil ment of the duties belonging to his exalted station; and against his own feelings and judgment. But this, instead of mending the matter, evidently makes it worse; inasmuch as it takes away from him those sentiments of fanaticism which might have been urged as a palliation or an excuse. As to the other Christians-they are merely introduced to swell the pageant of the sacrifice; and they add nothing to the poetical effect of the tale. In fact, there can be very little sympathy felt now-a-days towards persons who are represented as courting and exulting in that death which is to purchase them a crown immortal, at the expense of neglecting or disregarding the mere mortal duties which arise from their natural and social ties. Even the feeling which brings about the catastrophe of Margarita's death,-namely, her eagerness to die before her poor doting and deserted father can arrive to take a last look and farewell of her, is most unnatural and repulsive. ་ By all this we do not mean to express an opinion that the details of such events as that which forms the subject of this poem, should not be recorded; but only that such details are altogether unfit for poetry; -which, in fact, cannot subsist in the absence of general sympathy confined within the limits of delight. Upon the whole, then, overlooking some minor faults of careless versification and modes of expression, general diffusiveness, &c. the Martyr of Antioch is strikingly inferior both to Fazio and the Fall of Jerusalem; and, but for the existence of these latter poems, we should not have felt ourselves justified in saying what we have meant to convey at the beginning of the article, that Mr. Milman is a writer of highly cultivated mind, whose works have no chance of being forgotten in the annals of the age which he contributes to adorn. TO MISS M. A. TREE. DELICATE Spirit, thou wert made And rue and rosemary to braid, Or with sweet Juliet's faith to prove Every softer, kindlier glow, Finds its resting-place in thee: In Sorrow's touch so lightly press'd, We mark the changing thoughts that prove Or with Ophelia's fleeting mind, To shrink at once before the blast; To wither in an hour, and find But one short grief,-the first and last: To view the desolation wide, And yield, nor dare to stem the tide. Or, in fond Julia's shape to tell, What woman's heart can do and dare, What tale hath ever told so well The tyrant thrall that lovers bear? And while I look on thee, I feel 'Twere rapture at some shrines to kneel. Delicate Spirit, thou wert made Thus to breathe thy noiseless spell, Oh! breathe, for ever breathe thy spell. W. O. F. LECTURES ON POETRY. BY T. CAMPBELL. LECTURE VI. Continuation of the Synopsis of Greek Poetry. THERE can be no doubt that the Greeks early possessed, and long preserved, prophetic compositions. The traditional history of their oracles goes as far back as that of their poetry; and we are told that those oracles first taught them the use of heroic measure. A cloud of fable however rests over the names of all their primitive soothsayers; and the first light of distinct history that dawns upon Greek affairs discovers those who promulgated prophetic verses, bringing them forward not as their own compositions, but modestly ascribing them to departed genius. Their early religious mystics had an excellent stalking-horse in the reputation of Orpheus and Musæus, for aiming predictions as well as doctrines behind the pretended authority of those bards. Onomacritus coined oracles under both of their names. The rascality of that priest, who deserted the cause of his country, and went over to Xerxes, exposed his mock-antique predictions to scrutiny and detection. But other prophecies were circulated about the same time among his countrymen, which were either better concerted, or, from being favourable to the Greeks, were more good naturedly examined. Among these there were some attributed to the very ancient name of Bacis, which Herodotus regarded as old and fulfilled predictions of the battles of Salamis and Platea. To these he appeals with as much confidence as a modern divine would feel in quoting holy writ, and with that air of sincerity which never leaves him, even when he is relating what is incredible: he subjoins, "From this explicit declaration of Bacis (respecting the battle of Salamis) I shall never presume to question the authority of Oracles, nor patiently suffer others to do so." Thucydides mentions that when Athens was greatly agitated at the breaking out of the Peloponnesian war, the soothsayers split into parties, singing all manner of prophecies. Pausanias, when travelling through Greece many centuries afterwards, heard the verses of several prophets recited, which passed for compositions of extreme antiquity. Those of Bacis were among the number: Pausanias has quoted them; but his date as a writer* makes his soothsaying scraps less valuable than those of Herodotus. About the age of oracular verses we can never be certain of much more than that they are as old as the writer who quotes them. But even for this assurance we prize those which are quoted by the father of history. The ideas of prophetic and poetical inspiration were not identified by the Greeks, but they were evidently held to have some affinity. Plato considers Love, Poetry, and Prophecy, as the three great branches of divine transport or madness (της θείας μανίας). Verse was the earliest language of oracles, and was not superseded by prose till within the third century before the Christian era. The scenery of Delphi, incomparably the greatest of the Pagan shrines, was poetically hallowed, and its tutelary power was the god of song as well as of divination. It is true that Parnassus was partially consecrated to Bacchus as well as * In the second century A. C. 3 C VOL. III. No. 17.-1822. Apollo; but the mountain lost nothing of its poetical patronage by this participation of its empire; for Bacchus was invoked as the chief inspirer of the tragic muse. The Parnassian laurel was expressly denominated the "prophetic plant;" and, if we may believe Lycophron's Cassandra, its leaves were administered by Apollo as food to those whom he gifted with vaticination. Whether the god ever treated his poets to this species of sallad, we are not informed; but the laurel was a token of honour in their vocation; and it is a moot point whether the name of a rhapsodist was not derived from the rod (paßdes), which was a branch of laurel that he bore in his hand,-" Should you presume to ascend Parnassus," says Lucian to an ignoramus, "the Muses would not present you with a laurel-branch, but would whip you with a rod of a different description." Moreover, the Pythian priestess used to bathe in the Castalian fountain to prepare her for prophesying; and the poets drank its waters as a tonic for inspiration, though it is to be hoped that they timed their draughts at due intervals from the old lady's lustrations. But notwithstanding so many circumstances which denote the ideas of song and divination to have been connected in the minds of the Greeks, we have no traces of their having possessed prophetic works of a high or interesting poetical character. Indeed, where prediction is but a phantasy of human enthusiasm, we can hardly expect it to bear the genuine impress of poetry. Homer has justly denominated the Muses the daughters of Memory; and it is evident that their pictures of existence must be more vividly drawn from the substantial past, than from the shadowy future. Of this the Greeks seem to have been early aware; for even in the Homeric manners the offices of the bard and the soothsayer are completely separated. The renown of the Cretan Epimenides may suggest an idea, that he, though posterior to Homer, may have possibly united the two vocations. But within the clear verge of Greek history we meet with no man of distinguished genius accredited both as a bard and a seer. On the contrary, when priests or statesmen found it convenient to scatter predictions among the people, if they were not obtained from the Pythia, they were either fathered on a Bacis or an Olen, or attributed to some Sibyl of conveniently remote antiquity. Greek politics were certainly not uninfluenced by oracles, but never to any such degree as among the Hebrews. The theocratic constitution of the Jews might be said to subsist upon prophecy. The prophets of that people blended the importance and utility of public orators, censors, patriots, philosophers, and even of historians, though they were the historians of futurity. Moses provided for their freedom of speech under the protection of the law. Samuel incorporated them into colleges when he renovated the Mosaic system from its first decline; and the prophets continued for many centuries to be efficient, either as the champions or martyrs of that system.-Not such champions of truth * Parnassus gemino petit æthera collo † Δαφνηφάγων φοιβάζειν εκ λαιμων οπα The office of Pythia could not be filled by a lady under the age of fifty. At the primitive institution of the Oracle this had not been the case; but a young and handsome priestess having been run away with by some sacrilegious lover, the requisite age was fixed at half a century, 49 being thought still too susceptible a period. § Vide Fabricii Biblioth, Græc. vol. i. p. 30, edit. Harles. |