could be made of any thing so metaphysical in rhyme, and how had the author succeeded in imparting such attractions to his subject, as to deserve the praises that have been bestowed upon his lay by foreign critics? The mystery, however, was soon solved; we found that it was only a misnomer, and that the poem might just as well have been called Omnipotence, Omniscience, or in short, by any other fancy name which a romantic and fond parent might have selected for it. It is a little effusion, de omni scibili et quolibet ente. It begins at the very beginning, to wit, the creation of the world, and ends with its final conflagration and the Day of Judgment. Within these narrow limits, our poet wanders about at random, moralizing in a very edifying strain of sentimentalism, and turning into rhyme whatever happens to hit his fancy. The thunders of Mount Sinai, and the farewell of an honest tar on the sea shore to his true love, who ejaculates a prayer for him-the vicissitudes of the seasons, with all the beauty and grandeur that accompany them, and the fate of a street-walker and a young convict-the picture of a grandsire sitting by the fire and chatting about the incredible exploits of past times; and "by a natural but melancholy digression," a glance at atheism, as influencing the horrors of the French revolution-in a word, it is a pleasing little miscellany, in which Mr. Montgomery has chosen to pack up in one envelope, all the precious reflections that have suggested themselves to his apparently philanthropic and contemplative mind, in the course of his pilgrimage through life.

We were much more gratified with the first perusal of this poem, than with the second. Some allowance, we are aware, must always be made in such cases, for a difference in the reader's own feelings, especially where he voluntarily lays any restraint upon them, with a view to a more critical examination of a work. We have no doubt, however, that in the present instance, such a change may be accounted for in a good degree, by another cause. Mr. Montgomery's faults in all his verses that we have happened to see, and especially in these, is a certain mawkish and languid sweetishness that palls upon the taste-the suavitas dulcis et decocta, which in works of genius, just as much (we are almost ashamed of the comparison) as in those of the culinary art, becomes in the long run, cloying and disgustful. The true test of excellence is, that you like it more and more at every repeated examination of it. Who was ever tired of Shakspeare or Homer, or to come down to mere mortals, of Burns or Goldsmith, or any other poet remarkable for simplicity as well as talent? Compare the first part of Thomson's Castle of Indolence (which nothing can surpass) with his Seasons, which are liable to the

same criticism as this poem of Mr. Montgomery-or Camplll's Hohenlinden, &c. with his "Pleasures of Hope,” and the difference alluded to will be soon perceived. The mention of the "Pleasures of Hope," reminds us that that poem has been compared (as we learn from some of our newspapers) with the one now under consideration. We think Mr. Montgomery overrated by such a comparison, although Mr. Campbell is certainly capable of far higher things than that very popular production, which has been fully as much praised as it deserves to be.

There is yet another fault in this poem. "The Omnipresence of the Deity" is an idea that greatly heightens the grandeur of the natural world, and ought to add in the same degree to the fervour and sublimity of a Christian poet's conceptions. It would seem, therefore, to present a theme which a man of ordinary talent might treat with success-but the fact is certainly otherwise. It suffers in the hands of any but the mightiest geniuses. Who but a Milton or a Racine is worthy to strike the harp of the Prophets and the Psalmist? Paradise Lost, and the Choral odes of Esther and Athalie, preserve that sublime and somewhat stern simplicity, that awful grandeur, that comes up to our conceptions of the divine power and majesty. Their raptures are as of those who have been admitted, if it may be said with reverence, to the glories of the Vision Beatific. But those of Mr. Montgomery are not quite so high and prophet-like. He expresses himself, indeed, with abundance of pious fervour-he deals profusely in interjection and begins almost every other paragraph with an Oh! or an Ah! But the dolendum est tibi primum, however true of the pathetic in tragedy and declamation, is, we fear, not quite so applicable to the sublime or at any rate, a reader who expects a great deal will not be put off with an exclamation-which must often be his fate in reading "The Omnipresence of the Deity, a Poem." Its author seems to labour for expressions equal to his theme. He is thus not unfrequently betrayed into extravagant and frigid conceits. Thus, "a thunder-storm" is the "eloquence of hea," with a note of admiration! And one who hears "its hollow groan," is said "to feel Omnipotence around him thrown." He apostrophises the mountains as follows:

ven,'

"Terrific giants that o'erlook the sea!
Enormous masses of sublimity!

Ye mountain-piles! Earth's monuments to Heaven-
Around whose brows the giddy storms are driven,
E'er since your daring heads have pierced the sky,
Almighty Majesty has linger'd by," &c. (Part 1. p. 32.)

These lines recall to us a couplet in the "Wanderer of Switzerland," which we remember reading in our youth. There the Alps are addressed as

"Nature's bulwarks, built by Time
'Gainst Eternity to stand!!!"

The reader may take his choice between these "enormous masses of sublimity," though if he agree with us he will reject them both as puerile bombast. Again, "the youthful billows pant"-"the cloud-battalions march."* Death is described, (p. 86) as "dragging the world into eternity," while "ages on ages" are attempting in vain to "grapple" him, which is a contest of rather a singular kind. The Deity "speaks in the storm and travels on the winds." And his picture of the Day of Judgment, which is the end or epilogue of the whole poem, terminates thus

"The curs'd, with hell uncovered to their eye,
Shriek-shriek, and vanish in a whirlwind cry!
Creation shudders with sublime dismay,
And in a blazing tempest whirls away!"

We do not mean to say that a few such blemishes are to be dwelt upon with much emphasis in a fine poem; but we quote these passages for the purpose of exemplifying the faults to which Mr. Montgomery is most prone. There is, indeed, another still more insufferable and fatal—the mediocrity of its beauties, which we lament to say is more observable than might be wished.

After all, there is much to be pleased with in this little volume, and it is no small matter to clothe in the charms of elegant diction and poetical fancy, those subjects about which the thoughts and sensibilities of civilized and christian men ought to be most constantly engaged. Mr. Montgomery has succeeded in doing this. There is a sweet tone of benevolence and piety that pervades the whole work, and it will be scarcely possible to read it through without feeling these good dispositions confirmed in our bosoms.

We proceed to lay some extracts before our readers. The Poem opens with a description of the Creation, in which there are some passages of very great beauty:

"Primeval Power! before Thy thunder rang, And Nature from Eternity outsprang!

Virgil has ventorum prælia, and Milton speaks sublimely of "two black clouds, with heaven's artillery fraught, &c." but every thing depends upon the connexion and the manner, and Mr. M's line appears to us turgid and strained.

Ere matter form'd at thy creative tone,
Thou wert; Almighty, Endless, and alone;
In thine own essence, all that was to be,-
Sublime, unfathomable Deity;

Thou said'st-and lo! a Universe was born,

And light flash'd from Thee for her birth-day morn!

The Earth unshrouded all her beauty now;
The mountain monarch bared his awful brow,
Flowers, fruits, and trees felt instantaneous life;
But, hark! Creation trembles with the strife
Of roaring waves in wild commotion hurl'd.—
'Tis Ocean winding round the rocking world!

And next, triumphant o'er the green-clad Earth, The universal Sun burst into birth,

And dash'd from off his altitude sublime

The first dread ray that mark'd commencing Time!
Last came the moon upon the wings of light,
And sat in glory on the throne of Night,

While, fierce and fresh, a radient host of stars
Wheel'd round the heavens upon their burning cars!

But all was dismal as a world of dead,
Till the great Deep her living swarms outspread:
Forth from her teeming bosom, sudden came
Immingled monsters,-mighty, without name;
Then plumy tribes wing'd into being there,
And play'd their gleamy pinions on the air,
Till thick as dews upon a twilight green,
Earth's living creatures rose upon the scene!

Creation's master-piece! a breath of God,
Ray of His glory, quickened at His nod,
Immortal Man came next, divinely grand,
Glorious and perfect from his Maker's hand;
Last, softly beautiful as music's close,
Angelic Woman into being rose.

And now, the gorgeous Universe was rife,
Full, fair, and glowing with created life;
And when the Eternal, from his starry height,
Beheld the young world basking in his light,
And breathing incense of deep gratitude,

He bless'd it, for his mercy made it good!

And thus, THOU wert, and art, the Fountain Soul, And countless worlds around Thee live and roll; In sun and shade, in ocean and in air, Diffused, yet undiminished-everywhere: All life and motion from Thy source began, From worlds to atoms, an ls down to man.

a

Lord of all being! where can Fancy fly,

To what far realms, unmeasured by Thine eye?
Where can we hide beneath Thy blazing sun,

Where dwell'st THOU not, the boundless, viewless One?
Shall Guilt couch down within the cavern's gloom,
And quivering, groaning, meditate her doom?
Or scale the mountains, where the whirlwinds rest,
And in the night-blast cool her fiery breast?
In vain, in vain, may guilt-stung Fancy fly,
Creation's mirror'd on Thy sleepless eye;
Within the cavern-gloom, Thine eye can see,
The sky-clad mountains lift their heads to Thee!
Thy Spirit rides upon the thunder-storms,
Dark'ning the skies into terrific forms!

Beams in the lightning, rocks upon the seas,
Roars in the blast, and whispers in the breeze;
In calm and storm, in Heaven and Earth Thou art,
Trace but Thy works-they bring Thee to the heart!

The fulness of Thy Presence who can see?
Man cannot live, great God! and look on Thee;
Around thy form eternal lightnings glow,—
Thy voice appals the shuddering world below.

Oh! Egypt felt Thee when, by signs unscared,
To mock Thy might, the rebel monarch dared;
Thou look'dst-and Ocean sever'd at the glance!
Undaunted, still the charioteers advance;
Thou look'dst again-she clash'd her howling waves,
And gorg'd the tyrants in unfathoin'd graves!

On Sinai's mountain, when thy glory came
In rolls of thunder, and in clouds of flame;
There, while volcanic smoke Thy throne o'ercast,
And the mount shrunk beneath the trumpet-blast,
How did Thy Presence smite all Israel's eye!
How dreadful were the gleams of Deity!

There is a voiceless eloquence on Earth,
Telling of Him who gave her wonders birth;
And long may I remain the adoring child
Of nature's majesty, sublime or wild;

Hill, flood, and forest, mountain, rock, and sea,
All take their terrors and their charms from Thee,
From Thee, whose hidden but supreme controul

Moves through the world, a universal soul." pp. 18-23.

Scarcely inferior is the following description of the Seasons:

"When Day hath roll'd into his rosy bower, And Twilight comes-the Poet's pensive hour;