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volumes. rality pervades all the writings of this poet. He was
| possesses more of the power and fertility of the | master than any other of the author's works.
Besides the works we have enumerated, Mr Montgomery has thrown off a number of small effusions, published in different periodicals, and short translations from Dante and Petrarch. On his retirement in 1825 from the ‘invidious station' of newspaper editor, which he had maintained for more than thirty years, through good report and evil report, his friends and neighbours of Sheffield, of every shade of political and religious distinction, invited him to a public entertainment, at which the present Earl Fitzwilliam presided. There the happy and grateful poet ‘ran through the story of his life even from his boyish days, when he came amongst them, friendless and a stranger, from his retirement at Fulneck among the Moravian brethren, by whom he was educated in all but knowledge of the world. He spoke with pardonable pride of the success which had crowned his labours as an author. “Not, indeed,” he said, “with fame and fortune, as these were lavished on my greater contemporaries, in comparison with whose
magnificent possessions on the British Parnassus | my small plot of ground is no more than Naboth's vineyard to Ahab's kingdom; but it is my own; it
is no copyhold; I borrowed it, I leased it from none. Every foot of it I enclosed from the common myself; and I can say that not an inch which I had once gained have I ever lost. * * I wrote neither to suit the manners, the taste, nor the temper of the age; but I appealed to universal principles, to unperishable affections, to primary elements of our common nature, found wherever man is found in civilised society, wherever his mind has been raised above barbarian ignorance, or his passions purified from brutal selfishness.” In 1830 and 1831 Mr Montgomery was selected to deliver a course of lectures at the Royal Institution on Poetry and General Literature, which he prepared for the press, and published in 1833. A pension of £200 per annum
| has since been conferred on Mr Montgomery. A collected edition of his works, with autobiographical
and illustrative matter, was issued in 1841 in four A tone of generous and enlightened mo
the enemy of the slave trade and of every form
of oppression, and the warm friend of every scheme
of philanthropy and improvement. The pious and devotional feelings displayed in his early effusions have grown with his growth, and form the staple of his poetry. In description, however, he is not less
happy; and in his “Greenland' and “Pelican Island’
there are passages of great beauty, evincing a refined
taste and judgment in the selection of his materials.
His late works have more vigour and variety than those by which he first became distinguished. Indeed, his fame was long confined to what is termed the religious world, till he showed, by his cultivation of different styles of poetry, that his depth and sincerity of feeling, the simplicity of his taste, and the
picturesque beauty of his language, were not re
stricted to purely spiritual themes. His smaller poems enjoy a popularity almost equal to those of
| Moore, which, though differing widely in subject,
they resemble in their musical flow, and their compendious happy expression and imagery.
'Tis sunset; to the firmament serene
Through which the evening star, with milder gleam,
Hark! through the calm and silence of the scene, Slow, solemn, sweet, with many a pause between, Celestial music swells along the airl No 1 'tis the evening hymn of praise and prayer From yonder deck, where, on the stern retired, Three humble voyagers,” with looks inspired, And hearts enkindled with a holier flame Than ever lit to empire or to fame, Devoutly stand : their choral accents rise On wings of harmony beyond the skies; And, 'midst the songs that seraph-minstrels sing, Day without night, to their immortal king, These simple strains, which erst Bohemian hills Echoed to pathless woods and desert rills, Now heard from Shetland's azure bound—are known In heaven ; and he who sits upon the throne In human form, with mediatorial power, Remembers Calvary, and hails the hour When, by the Almighty Father's high decree, The utmost north to him shall bow the knee, And, won by love, an untamed rebel-race Kiss the victorious sceptre of his grace. Then to his eye, whose instant glance pervades Heaven's heights, earth's circle, heli’s profoundest
Is there a group more lovely than those three
* The term ice-blink is generally applied by mariners to the nocturnal illumination in the heavens, which denotes to them the proximity of ice-mountains. In this place a description is attempted of the most stupendous accumulation of ice in the known world, which has been long distinguished by this peculiar name by the Danish navigators.
* The first Christian missionaries to Greenland.
Or to his ear, that gathers, in one sound,
| The land they seek, the land they leave behind,
Meet on mid-ocean in the plastic mind;
| Peeps through the portal o'er the liquid lawn,
That ruffled by an April-gale appears,
Night is the time for rest;
Night is the time for dreams;
Night is the time for toil ;
Night is the time to weep;
Night is the time to watch;
Night is the time for care;
Night is the time to pray;
[Picture of a Poetical Enthusiast.] [From the “World Before the Flood.] Restored to life, one pledge of former joy, One source of bliss to come, remained—her boy! Sweet in her eye the cherished infant rose, At once the seal and solace of her woes ; When the pale widow clasped him to her breast, Warm gushed the tears, and would not be repressed ; In .. anguish, when the truant child Leaped o'er the threshold, all the mother smiled. In him, while fond imagination viewed Husband and parents, brethren, friends renewed, Each vanished look, each well-remembered grace That pleased in them, she sought in Javan's face ; For quick his eye, and changeable its ray, As the sun glancing through a vernal day; And like the lake, by storm or moonlight seen, With darkening furrows or cerulean mien, His countenance, the mirror of his breast, The calm or trouble of his soul expressed. As years enlarged his form, in moody hours His mind betrayed its weakness with its powers; Alike his fairest hopes and strangest fears Were nursed in silence, or divulged with tears; The fulness of his heart repressed his tongue, Though none might rival Javan when he sung. He loved, in lonely indolence reclined, To watch the clouds, and listen to the wind. But from the north when snow and tempest came, His nobler spirit mounted into flame; With stern delight he roamed the howling woods, Or hung in ecstacy over headlong floods. Meanwhile, excursive fancy longed to view The world, which yet by fame alone he knew; The joys of freedom were his daily theme, Glory the secret of his midnight dream ; That dream he told not; though his heart would ache, His home was precious for his mother's sake. With her the lowly paths of peace he ran, His guardian angel, till he verged to man ; But when her weary eye could watch no more, When to the grave her lifeless corse he bore, Not Enoch's counsels could his steps restrain; He fled, and sojourned in the land of Cain.
* Without any wish to make pedantic objections, we may be allowed to remark, that this stanza is inconsistent with natural truth and a just economy of life. Day is the time for toil– night is more proper for repose, and, if spent in mental labour, in addition to other duties pursued during the day, must re
| dound to the injury of health.-Ed.
[The Pelican Island.]
Light as a flake of foam upon the wind,
TILL THE PRESENT TIME,
| A fountain issuing into light Before a marble palace, threw To heaven its column, pure and bright, Returning thence in showers of dew; But soon a humbler course it took, And glid away a nameless brook.
That joy, and grief, and hope, and fear,
His bless and wo—a smile, a tear !
The bounding pulse, the languid limb, The changing spirits’ rise and fall;
We know that these were felt by him, For these are felt by all.
He suffered—but his pangs are o'er;
Had friends—his friends are now no more ;
He loved—but whom he loved the grave Hath lost in its unconscious womb:
0 she was fair! but nought could save Her beauty from the tomb.
He saw whatever thou hast seen;
He was—whatever thou hast been;
The rolling seasons, day and night,
The annals of the human race,
Of him afford no other trace
Prayer is the soul's sincere desire
The motion of a hidden fire
Prayer is the burthen of a sigh, The falling of a tear;
The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try;
Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high.
Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, The Christian's native air;
His watchword at the gates of death: He enters heaven by prayer.
Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice Returning from his ways;
While i. in their songs rejoice, And say, ‘Behold he prays I’
The saints in prayer appear as one, In word, and deed, and mind,
When with the Father and his Son Their fellowship they find.
Nor prayer is made on earth alone: The Holy Spirit pleads;
And Jesus, on the eternal throne, For sinners intercedes.
O Thou, by whom we come to God,
The path of prayer thyself hast trod:
There is a land, of every land the pride,
The Hon. WILLIAM Robert SPENCER (1770-1834) || published occasional poems of that description named vers de société, whose highest object is to gild the social hour. They were exaggerated in compliment and adulation, and wittily parodied in the 'Rejected || Addresses.'. As a companion, Mr Spencer was much prized by the brilliant circles of the metropolis; but falling into pecuniary difficulties, he removed to Paris, where he died. His poems were collected and published in 1835. Sir Walter Scott, who knew and osteemed Spencer, quotes the following “fine lines' from one of his poems, as expressive of his own feel. .