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Memoir of

ROBERT MONTGOMERY.

(With a Portrait.)

Few works within the compass of modern literature, have beamed upon the world with so much sudden and unexpected splendour, as a satire entitled, "The Age reviewed," and a poem on "The Omnipresence of the Deity," for both of which, we understand, the public are indebted to the pen of Mr. Robert Montgomery. Of these publications, the latter has excited such a deep and general interest, in the minds of the reading portion of the community, that in the short space of four months, no less than five editions have issued from the press. This circumstance is at once highly flattering to the author's talents, and equally creditable to those by whom his works have been patronized.

To those who have been charmed with the emanations of Mr. Montgomery's genius, the contour and lineaments of his countenance cannot fail to be pleasing. Under this impression we were led to solicit his portrait, and in our application we have been successful. It has been taken pur. posely for the Imperial Magazine by an eminent artist, and executed in a masterly style; it is now presented to the public, accompanied with a brief biographical sketch, the particulars of which, though scanty, have been derived from the most authentic sources.

Of one whose career in literature has been as short as it has been successful and fortunate, little perhaps can be said of any interest to veterans who have been through life engaged in similar pursuits. It is, however, always pleasing to trace the development of intellect under all ages and circumstances, and to gather facts which tend to illustrate the mental character; and therefore, without any further prefatory remarks, we shall lay before the reader the few particulars we have been able to

collect.

MR. ROBERT MONTGOMERY, who is still in his minority, was born at Bath in the year 1807. His father was a gentleman of Irish extraction, of honourable and ancient

114.-VOL. X.

[1828.

descent, but somewhat unfortunate as to the inheritance of family property. The father of the elder Montgomery, and grandfather of the youthful poet, was, we have been given to understand, a brother to General Montgomery, whose exploits rendered him conspicuous during the American war, and whose name is enrolled with those of other heroes, who distinguished themselves during that eventful period. The poet's grandfather was a merchant, who, amidst his speculations, was by his relation deprived of a large fortune, which his family ought to have enjoyed. This disaster occasioned great distress amongst its several branches, and made sad havoc in their destinies and hopes.

Our poet's mother was the daughter of a gentleman originally bred to the law. He was the descendant of a highly respectable family in Hampshire, and though a man of unassuming and retiring habits, was highly esteemed by all who knew him, as an orator, a theologian, and a mathematician.

Mr. Robert Montgomery, after receiving an excellent classical education, was for a season destined for some profession, and at one time was desirous of entering Magdalen Hall, to prepare himself for the church. While this was in contemplation, like many of his youthful compeers, he produced numerous scraps of poetry, some of which were not very remarkable either for harmony of numbers or profundity of thought, while others were distinguished by various degrees of merit. With some of these detached and fugitive pieces, the author's first appearance was in the pages of the Imperial Magazine. This circumstance was not without its influence on his future resolutions to attempt a more elevated flight on the Parnassian hills.

There can be little doubt, that many, at this early age, have written pieces far superior to those of our author, who, as they advanced in years, were never able to acquire poetical fame, or literary reputation. The early notice which their productions obtained, vanished as they advanced to maturity. Those, on the contrary, composed by Mr. Montgomery, excited at first little or no attention, while

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the lapse of a few years, ripening to matu- | praise. These in their united testimonies rity the fertility of his genius, has placed soon drew the public eye from the tribunal him on an eminence which the most fortu- in which it had been sentenced, and "The nate bards of our country have been Age reviewed" instantly assumed its proper proud to occupy. The phenomena of the station among the poetical compositions of human mind puzzle prognostication the day. well as deceive it, and we must wait the arrival of more light than philosophy or reason now possesses, before we can hope to unfold its latent mysteries.

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The first avowed and decisive attempt of Mr. M. to appear before the public in the character of an author, was in a weekly periodical entitled, "The Inspector," which consisted of essays, fragments, sketches, and effusions of various kinds, though uniformly of a moral and useful tendency. This hebdomadal pamphlet first started in his native city, under his immediate superintendence, and was sold at threepence per number. Here it continued for six months; but the atmosphere of Bath not being congenial to its constitution, it was removed to London, where, though cherished by its parent, and assisted by some able literary physicians, its illness increased, and, after languishing for a season, it gave up the ghost.

Our author being now in London, and the occasion of his coming having been discontinued, some new effort for the exercise of his talents became necessary, not merely for the acquirement of fame, but for what, to bards as well as others, has a still more imperious claim. Thus circumstanced, he laid the foundation of a severe and biting satire, entitled, "The Age reviewed," which, accompanied with a spirited political dialogue, entitled, "The Runaways," came before the public in an octavo volume, in the month of June, 1827. The literary stir which its birth excited, plainly indicated that it was not destined to drop still-born from the press. By the Literary Gazette it was condemned in language of no common severity, the writer of the article having embodied in his invective nearly all the harshest terms of reproach which the English nomenclature could afford. Of this unqualified condemnation, the true cause may be found in some sarcastic lines on the editor, which occur in the satire, and to which were appended a note by no means calculated to mitigate the irritation which they could hardly fail to excite, and which issued in the castigation to which we have alluded.

As a satire, it is strong, active, galling, and every where full of vigour. Viewing it as an edge-tool, we can scarcely dare to touch it without cutting our fingers; as a serpent, it bites with severity whatever comes within its reach; and wherever we trace its progress, the effects of its stings are always left behind.

Young, ardent, and enthusiastic, the author, hurried on by the energies of his muse, unfortunately discharged his arrows against numerous individuals, without that due discrimination of character, which, as the friend of virtue and morals, he ought always to have kept in view. We do not, however, charge him with having been actuated by any malignant motives, towards those whose zeal and peculiarities have procured them a gibbet in his pages; but we feel assured, that in a future edition, which we understand he is now carefully revising for the press, his discretion will find ample opportunities of expunging offensive passages, and of directing the whole force of his satirical energy into a channel where it may subserve the cause of virtue, and benefit mankind.

From among a motley swarm, whom infamy has rendered notorious, the author in this pointed satire has selected two, whose characters, in the following lines, he thus forcibly delineates :—

"Now for the apex of polluted souls,
No shame subdues, no reverence controuls,

Puff'd into pertuess, pand'ring to the time,
Two pinnacles of blasphemy and crime;
Come, godless, blushless-England's vilest pair,
Blots on her land, and pestful to the air,-
C and T-!-may each kindred name,
Be linked to one eternity of shame!

"First, thou, the cap'ring coxcomb of the two,
Say, what has " Reverend" to do with thee,
With head upshooting from thy coat of blue,-
Though big and bloated with effrontery?
Wert Reverend, when round thee lolled a gang,
To drink the poison of thine impious slang;
And on Heav'n's book, thy cursed feet then trod,
To foam thy foulness at the throne of God?—
Wert Reverend, when from the pot-house turn'd,
And drunken fevers through thy bosom burn'd,-
Mean to the larc'ny of a paltry pot,

At once a rogue, an Atheist, and a sot!
Or, Reverend,-when to each Christian fane,
Thou lead'st the barking bull-dogs of thy train,
In mean and native brutishness of mind,

To growl thy dogmas, and pervert the blind?

Go, caitiff!-put a mask upon that face, But while the writer in the Literary Ga- The staring mirror of thy soul's disgrace, zette was revenging himself on the work, by And there enjoy the dark satanic creed:Go, seek some dunghill to harangue thy breed, stringing together the abusive epithets with Though stiff in port, and stately with thy glass, which he retaliated, nearly every other perio-May good men frown whene'er they see thee pass, dical journal was loud and unsparing in its

Till even infant tongues shall lisp thee, vile," And Britons hoot thee from their tainted isle!

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"The base we've had, of ev'ry kind and bue,
The bloody, lech'rous, and unnatʼral too-
Bat never, yet, the wretch that equall'd thee,
Thou synonyme of all depravity;
Thy mind as canker'd as thy columns vile,-
Thou pois'nous, poor polluted thing,-C-
For THEE must heaven's empyreal portals close,
And Hope he buried in her dead repose!-
For thee must glorious aspirations cease,
Nor Faith, still vision out her heav'n of peace,
And minds no longer dare to feel divine,
But turn distorted, fester'd, lewd as thine!—
If yet within thee dwell one thought of shame,
If the least true feeling for thy country's clain,
And common nature but preserve her right,-
Then tear thy hellish pictures from our sight;
If vile thou must be,-hie thee to some den,
To feast the fancies of thy fellow-men;
But stand not forth to Britain's public eye,
The monger-fiend of painted blasphemy;
Now go-and quickly end thy course perverse,
Hung on the gibbet of a nation's curse!"

on

p. 246 to 248.

Mr. Montgomery having by this satire rendered himself conspicuous as an author, turned his attention to another subject encircled on every side with dignity, solemnity, and awe, and in the course of the present year produced his celebrated poem "The Omnipresence of the Deity." This was a bold and daring attempt. Of his mental and poetical vigour for this arduous undertaking, no one who had read his satire, could justly entertain a doubt; but with many it was somewhat questionable, if he could ascend that elevated region with a becoming grace, and sustain his flight while soaring in the empire of infinity, and contemplating the attributes of God. "The Satires," and the "Night Thoughts" of Dr. Young had, however, already proved that it was more than possible for the same mind to be engaged on topics so widely dissimilar, and his success had demonstrated, that there was nothing incompatible in this diversified direction of the same poetical talents and mental energies.

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With this illustrious example before him, the author called forth all his powers, and early in the present year sent his poem on "The Omnipresence of the Deity," into the world. On its first appearance it was seized with much avidity by various classes of readers, many of whom were no doubt actuated by very different motives. perusal of its pages soon gave circulation to its fame, and this was followed by a demand for copies which the first impression was inadequate to supply. A second edition was put to press; this also was speedily exhausted: a third immediately followed; and this was succeeded by a fourth, which was but a prelude to a fifth, that is now in circulation. Five editions of this poem have therefore appeared in the short space of four months.

gyric, but not more highly than its intrinsic merits deserve. Among these, it is out fair to state, that the editor of the Literary Gazette seized an early opportunity to expatiate on its excellencies. This he bas done in an ample and honourable manner, and by thus counteracting the effects of his severe critique on "The Age reviewed," he has redeemed his own credit, while doing justice to the author. Our opinion of its philosophy and execution may be found in our number for March of the present year, col. 275, when a copy of the first edition fell into our hands. Illustrative of that opinion, we gave several extracts from the poem, which, though short, could not fail to place the author and his production in a very favourable light. They were almost promiscuously taken, and may therefore be considered as fair specimens of the whole.

During the subsequent editions through which it has since passed, the author has introduced some slight alterations in the construction of several lines, and imparted to others various minute and delicate

Additional

touches, which, in their combined effect, have given to the whole a stronger approximation towards perfection. lines are also interspersed throughout the whole, amounting to about twenty pages, but without in the least respect altering any feature of its original character.

Having called his readers to witness the birth of creation, and to see how the Holy Spirit

"With mighty wings outspread Dovelike, sat brooding on the vast abyss, And made it pregnant,” the author, in the following lines, invites us to contemplate the ubiquity of God:

"And thus thou wert, and art the Fountain soul, And countless worlds around thee live and roll; In sun and shade, in ocean and in air, Diffused, yet undiminished- every where: All life and motion from Thy source began,

From worlds to atoms, angels down to man.

"Lord of all being, where can fancy fly, To what far realms, unmeasured by thine eye? Where can we hide beneath Thy blazing sun, where dwell'st Thou not, the boundless, viewless

One.

"Shall guilt, couch down within the cavern's gloom, or scale the mountains where the whirlwinds rest, And quivering, groaning, meditate her doom? And in the night-blast cool her fiery breast? The sky-clad mountains lift their heads to Thee! Within the cavern-gloom Thine eye can see, Thy Spirit rides upon the thunder storms, Dark'ning the skies into terrific forms!

Beams in the light'ning, rocks upon the seas,
Roars in the blast, and whispers in the breeze;
In calm and storm, in heaven and earth Thou art,
Trace but Thy works-they bring Thee to the

heart!

The fulness of Thy presence who can see,
Man cannot live, great God, and look on Thee;

Of this poem nearly all the literary jour-Around thy form eternal light'nings glownals have spoken in terms of high pane- Thy voice appals the shudd ring world below.

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