I. Morn opes her eye: rock, valley, mount, and stream, II. Fair gilds the beam, the city, and the sea ; The desert wanderers 'neath their standard crowd; III. Still from the wall the Christian banner flies, And still the Greek the Ottomite defies. On foaming steed what Moslem chief appears, Till, like his own, each breast for combat burns.'-pp. 41-43. We have often been struck by the real beauty of most of the poems which have obtained prizes, on various occasions, in the two Universities; and as often have we asked, without receiving any satisfactory answer, what has become in after-life of the poetical talents which those compositions called forth? We have at this moment in our recollection the names of many scholars who have produced capital verses, which have been distinguished in this manner, and we do not find that more than one or two of them have afterwards written any thing that holds a permanent place in our literature. Of those who win the poetical prize, many, indeed, subsequently become members of the ecclesiactical profession, with which a fastidious prejudice-it is nothing more-considers frequent homage to the muses incompatible. Others make academical honours merely the stepping-stone to parliament or the law, and think no more of the lyre which had once seasonably responded to their touch. These are results greatly to be lamented. There is no pursuit which poetical exercises might not sweeten and exalt; and where genius has succeeded, particularly that noble description of it now so rare, it were much to be desired that it should again and again be exerted. We have been led into these observations by the "Ascent of Elijah," a masterly production from the pen of the Rev. Richard Parkinson. It is no imitation of Campbell's verse, and yet it reminds us more of the manly vigour, the classical diction, the elevated thought, and exquisite imagery, which crown the "Pleasures of Hope" with the true gifts of poetry, than any publication that we have for a long time seen. The subject is told at once in the title, and is thus magnificently pictured in verses that well merit preservation. • Fast clos'd the shades of eve; the sun's last ray Cast a wild, spectral light on sulph'rous clouds Yet not a breath was there to move these forms- And, ere the heart could think, in smoke and flame At once the cope of heaven asunder rends, Elisha Saw!-No touch of human fear Dimm'd his bright eye, or stopp'd his list'ning ear. With rapturous zeal he breath'd his Father's name, He heard the seraph tones, that hymn'd on high But where is then the Promise? where the Sign. The heavenly splendour now fades fast away, And with his master's Mantle wrapp'd him round; His Power on earth-his Wisdom-and his Word !'-pp. 18-20. This is the finest passage in the poem; but there are many lines among those which precede it, that indicate the possession of powers which, we trust, Mr. Parkinson may long continue to cultivate. The author of the Sketches of Genius' has undertaken to sing of almost every person who has figured in metre from Solomon himself down to Childe Harold. This, it must be admitted, was a comprehensive undertaking, the mere idea of which reflects credit on Mr. Corkindale. We fear, however, that one stanza will satisfy every body as to the purity of his taste, and the delicacy of his phraseology. The poet varies his theme by the introduction of a chop-house scene. "Tis sad to dine on chop-house miseries, Disgust and pain are at the sound unnumbered; There sit you, squeezed like cheese within a press, And when to hoarseness for the "Times" you've hummed, Now comes your bill, as custom has appointed; But ah! your miseries linger still unsummed, And your grave neighbour has with gravy you anointed.'-p. 41. We are sorry to say that Mr. Corkindale's minor poems are no better. Let the reader imagine a country curate seated in a cheerful room in a snug cottage, the woodbine, the clematis, and monthly roses shedding their mingled flowers and fragrance round his window, a small green patch of garden smiling before it, a brook singing merrily at a short distance, which descends from a mountain, a charming wife teaching a blue eyed, fair haired child by her side to read or draw, and he will have a fair idea of the circumstances under which the Rev. Mr Whitfield applied himself to the poetical vocation. He evidently writes for the sake of amusement, to give form to the pleasant and airy nothings which float over his imagination. He publishes also to please himself and his family, and we have no desire whatever to lessen their enjoyment. Happy they, if they can derive delight and benefit from his lines to a Butterfly,' and his heroics on a Gray Hair.' Friendship, charity, sympathy, melancholy, enthusiasm, religion, have found in Mr. Whitfield a modest and zealous advocate, and we pray that his verses may be immortal. Depending on the favour with which her prettily printed and gilt-edged poem, the "Maid of Scio" was received,-by us at least, Miss Eleanor Snowden has promoted her muse from the rank of a sex-decimo to an octavo! But this difference, we fear, is all that she has gained by her new volume; it will not extend her reputation much beyond the precincts of Dover. Strange to say we like her Epigrams better than her Epics. 'A frigid Earl lolls listlessly beside Yon love-sick belle, who fain would be his bride; Like this?-with such disaster fraught? By Major Hooker's rowels caught. Why for the gaming-table should we sigh, BEAUTY WITHOUT SENSE. 'A fausse-montre, on whose fair, inanimate face Then turn with disgust from the fine, empty case, And most heartily wish it would go.'-pp. 165, 166. If we should be asked why we occasionally gather together in an olla podrida article, our opinions upon a number of poetical works, which, after all, have little merit to recommend them, our answer is that we deem it a part of our duty to hold the mirror up to the passing publications of the day, whether they be of an excellent, or an inferior kind. Our pages will thus shew what is actually going on in all grades of intellect, and every class of composition, and enable thinking minds to trace the history of our literature as well through its dark spots, as through those which, beam with light. We have, moreover, long had a habit of reading and criticising verse of every order, and that habit has now become a pleasant relaxation from grave pursuits. "A man," says Addison, "may smoke, or drink, or take snuff, till he is unable to pass his time without it; not to mention how our delight in any particular study, art, or science, rises and improves, in proportion to the application which we bestow upon it. Thus what was at first an exercise, becomes at length an entertainment." ART. VI.-A Selection from the Papers of the Earls of Marchmont, in the Possession of the Right Honorable Sir George Henry Rose, illustrative of Events from 1685 to 1750. In three volumes, 8vo. London: Murray. 1831. THE title of Marchmont, by which these papers are designated, belonged in succession to three earls of the Scotch family of Hume, and as it began with the first, so did it become extinct with the last of these noblemen. The Earls of Marchmont respectively took part-more or less conspicuously, in the political transactions of their time, and their united history links itself with an interval in our annals, reaching almost from the Restoration to the time of George the Third, a term exceeding that which has been set forth in the title-page. The first Earl of the family, better known, perhaps, as Sir Patrick Hume, acted a distinguished part in Scotland against the Stuarts. He opposed, by every means in his power, the succession of James the Second to the throne, and for his ardent and incessant hostility to that family, was rewarded by King William, after the revolution, with the honours of the peerage. He was succeeded by his son, Alexander, the second Earl, who filled several exalted offices both in Scotland and England, and from him again the title devolved to his son, Hugh, who, for several years, was considered one of the most accomplished debaters in the House of Commons. Such are the personages from whose papers the present selection has been made; and, considering the situations which they held, and the affairs which they were called on to assist in managing, we confess we feel disappointed that so little appears to be gleaned from their cabinets that is interesting or important. To Sir George Rose, as representing his father, the executor to whom these papers were confided, properly belonged the duty of exercising a discretion in sending forth any portion of the collection to the world. But with every feeling of respect and courtesy for that gentleman, we must say that in this accidental circumstance alone, lay the whole of his qualifications for the important office of editor of the Marchmont Papers. In the first place the volumes may with strict propriety be said to be a chaos, in which neither dates, nor persons, nor papers, are arranged according to the necessary laws of seniority. The first volume is occupied with a diary kept by the NO. 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