o elaborately Oriental--and often in
pure weariness of all that accumulation of the gorgeous imagery of the
East, we shut up the false glitter, and thank Heaven that we are in one
of the bleakest and barest corners of the West. But Southey's magic is
more potent--and he was privileged to exclaim--

"Come, listen to a tale of times of old!
Come, for ye know me. I am he who framed
Of Thalaba the wild and wondrous song.
Come listen to my lay, and ye shall hear
How Madoc from the shores of Britain spread
The adventurous sail, explored the ocean path,
And quell'd barbaric power, and overthrew
The bloody altars of idolatry,
And planted on its fanes triumphantly
The Cross of Christ. Come, listen to my lay."

Of all his chief Poems the conception and the execution are original;
in much faulty and imperfect both; but bearing throughout the impress of
original power; and breathing a moral charm, in the midst of the wildest
and sometimes even extravagant imaginings, that shall preserve them for
ever from oblivion, embalming them in the spirit of delight and of love.
Fairy Tales, or tales of witchcraft and enchantment, seldom stir the
holiest and deepest feelings of the heart; but "Thalaba" and "Kehama" do
so; "the still sad music of humanity" is ever with us among all most
wonderful and wild; and of all the spells, and charms, and talismans
that are seen working strange effects before our eyes, the strongest are
ever felt to be Piety and Virtue. What exquisite pictures of domestic
affection and bliss! what sanctity and devotion! Meek as a child is
Innocence in Southey's poetry, but mightier than any giant. Whether
matron or maid, mother or daughter--in joy or sorrow--as they appear
before us, doing or suffering, "beautiful and dutiful," with Faith, Hope
and Charity their guardian angels, nor Fear ever once crossing their
path! We feel, in perusing such pictures--"Purity! thy name is woman!"
and are not these Great Poems? We are silent. But should you answer
"yes," from us in our present mood you shall receive no contradiction.

The transition always seems to us, we scarcely know why, as natural as
delightful from Southey to Scott. They alone of all the poets of the day
have produced poems in which are pictured and narrated, epicly, national
characters, and events, and actions, and catastrophes. Southey has
heroically invaded foreign countries; Scott as heroically brought his
power to be