h stupid people confounded with
madness. At times his poetry rushed upon him like a whirlwind, and caught
him up

"Like swift Ezekiel, by his lock of hair"--

and when he came down he seemed weak, panting, and powerless. Mrs
Boscawen and others describe his conversation as still more remarkable
than his writings, although occasionally disfigured by conceits and bad
puns.

We come now to speak of his genius, especially as manifested in the
"Night Thoughts." The subject of this wonderful strain was one which, in
its novelty, dignity, and depth, challenged the very highest exercise of
the very highest faculties; and had Young risen to the full height of his
great argument, he had become the greatest of all poets. This we by no
means affirm he did; but we do assert, that many of the aspects of his
magnificent theme have been fully and eloquently expressed by him, and
that some of his passages are unsurpassed in the language of men.

The poem demands a brief critical consideration as to its _season_, its
_argument_, its _imagery_, its _style_, its _versification_, its
_comparative place_ and _merit_, and, lastly, the _genius_ of its author.
First, of its _season_--the Night--and the use to which he turns it.
Night had never before found a worthy laureate. Its profound silence, as
if it were listening to catch the accents of some supernal voice--the
shadowy grandeur and mysterious newness it gives to objects on the
earth--the divine hues into which its moon discolours all things--the
deep sleep which then falleth upon men, and changes the world into one
hushed grave--the supernatural shapes and mystic sounds which have been
supposed to walk in its darkness, or to echo through its depths--the
voices scarce less solemn, which often break its silence, of howling
winds, and wailing rivers, and shrieking tempests, and groaning thunders,
and the wild cries of human misery and despair--and last and highest, its
withdrawal of the bright mist and mantle of day from the starry universe,
and the pomp with which it unrols and exhibits its "great map" of suns
and systems--its silvery satellites--its meek planets, each shining in
its own degree of reflected splendour--its oceans of original and
ever-burning fire called suns--its comets, those serpents of the sky,
trailing their vast volumes of deadly glory through the shuddering
system--its fantastic and magnificent shapes and collocations of stars,
the constellations--its firmamen