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! 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, With all its temples, domes, and palaces, 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, I now must never know. I see the tears Which all around do shed are meant for me; But none will tell me why they thus should weep. "Magd. Disgrace and Frankfort's name are far asunder, Of unsubstantial horrors. Magdalene Hath come to die with thee-even in thy arms! “Frank. O music well known to my rending brainIt 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. For out of the olde feldes, as men saieth, ART. XI.-Palladis Tamia. Wits Treasury. Being the 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 cumstance is partly to be attributed to the fact, that when the two critics mentioned in the note published their works, Shakspeare had probably not yet, or only just started as a writer for the stage; but still his minor poems, which bear the same proportion to the productions of the same kind by his contemporaries, that his plays bear to their plays, ought to have entitled him to the highest admiration. It should seem also, that his growing fame was not regarded without some envy, as we pointed out in our review of Greene's Groatsworth of Wit, and as might be established by several other quotations, most of which have not escaped the notice of the indefatigable Malone. Besides the value, curiosity, and intrinsic merit of the book we have now chosen for review, we had another reason for selecting it. In the course of the articles under the head of Bibliotheca Antiqua inserted in previous numbers, we have had occasion to mention the names of persons and of works which were probably quite new to some of our readers, though to others, who have devoted themselves particularly to the study of old poetry, they have been probably well known: the consequence has been, that we were obliged to insert explanatory notes containing the necessary intelligence, which materially interfered with the regularity of our progress. That portion of Meres' Palladis Tamia from which we shall principally derive our extracts, comprises the names of the authors, and many of the productions (with such remarks upon their nature and contents as were consistent with the summary mode in which he was compelled to speak of them), especially famous in the latter end of the sixteenth and at the beginning of the seventeenth century. At least, therefore, by the perusal of the present article, many may become partially acquainted with persons to whom and to whose works on future occasions we shall perhaps separately advert. But little is known of Francis Meres, the writer or collector of this second part of Wits Common-wealth, and that little consists rather of dates than of anecdotes. It sometimes happens (as with the subject treated of in our last numbert), that both the author and the work are singular and curious; but in the present instance, the great value consists in the matter to be found in the book. Where Meres was born we know not, nor where he received the earlier part of his * Vide Crit. Rev. for May last, p. 530. + Coryat's Crudities. |