With yellow spots, like lurid stars As it sweeps the cold damp from the tomb. "Thou! Spirit of the burning breath, In the second act Frankfort learns the death of his mother and of her young son, and Magdalene is shewn performing acts of disinterested and most dangerous benevolence: it appears that she is the daughter of poor parents, living on the banks of the Cumberland Lakes, who come to London with their daughter just before the plague, in which they suffer, discovered itself. After the death of her father and mother, "she is a lovely lady no one knows, who walks through lonesome places day and night, giving to the poor who have no earthly friend." The place of meeting between her and Frankfort is strangely fixed in the room where the dead bodies of Frankfort's mother and younger brother have been laid out and decorated by Magdalene. "[The door opens, and MAGDALENE enters.] "Magdalene. (seeing Frankfort and Wilmot kneeling with their faces on the bed.) Haply some sorrowing friends unknown to me! "Frank. (rising.) Magdalene! my holy Magdalene ! Hush! hush! my Frankfort! thus I fold one arm Round thy blest neck, and with the other thus I touch the silent dead! An angel's arms are round me-No! a mortal's A mortal thing sublimed and beautified By woes that would have broken many a heart. Nor seems to heed that gushing flood of tears. "Priest to Wilmot. Let us retire. The hour is drawing near, Fixed for the funeral. "Wilmot. Heaven in mercy sent That angel with that dewy voice, and eyes [Priest and Wilmot retire." Throughout the piece, there are many obvious imitations of the style of writing and thought of Mr. Wordsworth, but we cannot say that they are generally happy, and certainly very ill adapted to a dramatic production. Mr. Wilson always introduces these imitations in a forced manner; they never flow easily from him, and he goes out of his way for the sake of them. An instance of the kind occurs in the opening of the third and last act, where a priest is describing a view of the city of London from a tower rising in its centre; his words are, "Silent as nature's solitary glens Slept the long streets-and mighty London seem'd, Like some sublime assemblage of tall cliffs To bring down the deep stillness of the heavens To shroud them in the desert. Groves of masts All that is good in this extract is taken from a sonnet by Mr. Wordsworth, with which the admirers of that gentleman's works are well acquainted, and to which his opponents do not deny excellencies of the highest character-we mean the sonnet composed upon Westminster Bridge just after sun-rise in summer. We cannot refrain from giving ourselves the pleasure of copying and our readers of perusing it. "Earth has not any thing to shew more fair: Frankfort, after the burial of his relatives, takes the infection, as well as Magdalene, while conversing with a young girl whose life she had saved: the former becomes frantic, while the latter waits the rapid advance of death with resignation. She summons sufficient strength to visit Frankfort, who, she hears, is dying. "[Magdalene kneels down by the bedside and looks on Frankfort.] "Magd. Say that thou know'st me, and I shall die happy. "Frank. Magdalene! for I will call thee by that name! Thou art so beautiful! "Magd. Enough!-enough! "Frank. O Magdalene! why am I lying here, And why so many melancholy faces Are looking all at me, and none but me, Which all around do shed are meant for me; But none will tell me why they thus should weep. Must live but in relieving misery! Magd. Disgrace and Frankfort's name are far asunder, Its living touch may wake thee from thy dream Of unsubstantial horrors. Magdalene Hath come to die with thee-even in thy arms! "Frank. O music well known to my rending brain— It breathes the feeling of reality O'er the dim world that hath perplex'd my soul." The sufferings of Frankfort are first terminated, but Magdalene, who follows him to the grave, and in the agony of her grief, faints upon his dead body in the churchyard, survives but a few minutes, and they are buried together. Notwithstanding the imitations to which we have referred, and some others (one from Titus Andronicus, where a mother describes the effect of her child's bright hair in the grave to be like that of the jewel upon the finger of Bassianus in the pit), we must admit that this poem possesses considerable claims to originality. Did we criticise it upon any dramatic rules, however liberal, we might point out many faults; but it is obvious that Mr. Wilson did not intend to obey any of them. The dialogues are in general spun out to a tedious length for the sake of including spirited descriptive sketches, particularly of horrors, upon which the author dwells with much seeming satisfaction, working them up to the highest pitch. The style in general is forcible, but often overstrained, and on this account, as well as on account of its extreme length, and the deficiency of incident, we do not think that the poem will be read as a whole with as much pleasure as might be derived from judicious extracts. Some miscellaneous pieces are appended, which we shall probably notice in a future number. BIBLIOTHECA ANTIQUA. yere; For out of the olde feldes, as men saieth, Chaucer's Assem. of Foules, st. 4. ART. XI.-Palladis Tamia. Wits Treasury. Being the Second Part of Wits Common-wealth. By FRANCIS MERES, Maister of Artes of both Vniuersities. < Viuitur ingenio, cætera mortis erunt.'-At London, printed by P. Short, for Cuthbert Burbie, and are to be solde at his shop at the Royall Exchange. 1598. 12mo. fo. 333. To those who are interested in the history of poetry (and who in this day is not?), more especially in that part of it which relates to the period when the laurel flourished with the greatest vigour and beauty, the reigns of Elizabeth and James, no work can be more interesting than the second part of Meres' Wits Common Wealth, the full title of which we have above inserted. It has always been industriously sought after, and eagerly purchased at almost any price, by such as were curious in their collections of the works of our earlier poets, because of the three critical productions which appeared between the years 1586 and 1598,* that before us contains not only the fullest notices of the admirable writers of the day, but the only mention of the most admirable of those writers-Shakspeare. It is mainly upon the silence of the two earliest of these critics, that the commentators upon our great dramatist have founded their position, that he did not begin to write for the stage until 1591. Notwithstanding the mention of him by Meres, it has often surprised those who have particularly studied the subject, that so little homage should have been paid to Shakspeare by contemporaries; that while Watson, Constable, and Whetstone have received lavish applauses which they have not deserved, Shakspeare, who must have eclipsed all others in public estimation, has either scarcely received bare justice at their hands, or has been passed over entirely without remark. We must allow, however, that this cir *A" Discourse of English Poetry" was published by Webbe in 1586, and in 1589, another critic, usually known by the name of Puttenham, printed his" Art of English Poesy." CRIT. REV. VOL. IV. August, 1816. 2 C |