And thro' the mingled pine and oak,
Apparent to the warrior's look,
The moon upon the fosse shone bright,
That trembled with her silver light.

'Twas still-save where embowered above,
The night-bird tuned her song of love,
And murmuring thro' the branches light,
Cold sighed the solemn breeze of night.

The contrast in the appearance of the spirit of Lothaire's father, on being introduced a first and second time, is striking. When he meets his son, who has just escaped death, and is about to reveal himself to him, the following is the description:

Deep groaned the Monk, and seemed to stand
Impassioned, as the knight he viewed,

Then from his head with solemn hand

Pull'd back the covering cowl and hood!
Dread heaven! what horror seized the knight,
How shook his inmost soul with fright,
When pale and ghastly as the grave,

A countenance was seen,

Whose bloodless lips dread token gave,
He saw no human mien!

Deep in the head, an inch and more,
A hideous gash appeared,

With spattered brain and clotted gore,
All horribly besmeared!

Silent awhile the spectre stood,
And earnestly Lothario view'd;
Then lifting up its death-pale hand,
Thus spoke with accent dread-
The sound made high erected stand
The locks upon Lothario's head.

But when Lothaire has revenged himself on his father's murderer, his aspect undergoes a pleasing change.

He ceased-the cowl and visage pale
Changed like the fickle ocean gale,
The first assumed a shining glow,
And turned as white as winter snow,
The next with rays of glory crowned,
Diffused a dazzling light around,

And midst a strain, whose cadence sweet,

No mortal music can repeat,

The vision vanished from his sight,

Veiled in a cloud of purple light.

The description of the combat in the last canto, with the various incidents that attend it, is very spirited and picturesque, and were it not too long, we should now insert it. Mr. Gilmour's muse is

a youthful one; but gives promise of much vigor, and of still greater efforts.

In the finale to his poem, the author breathes a spirited abhorrence of oppression and tyranny:

Oppression! how I hate thy rod!
How burns my soul at slavery!
man! thou noblest work of God,
Hold fast thy birth-right-Liberty!

True liberty its king respects,

And rank its due attention draws;
But still its jealous eye protects

More dear its country's sacred laws!

ART. V. The Pilgrims of the Sun; a Poem. By James Hogg 1 vol. 8vo. pp. 148. Murray, 1815.

THis poem is dedicated to Lord Byron in the following strains :
Not for thy crabbed state-creed, wayward wight,
Thy noble lineage, nor thy virtues high,
(God bless the mark !) do I this homage plight;
No-'tis thy bold and native energy;

Thy soul that dares each bound to overfly,
Ranging through Nature on erratic wing-

These do I honour and would fondly try
With thee a wild aerial strain to sing:

Then, O! round Shepherd's head thy charmed mantle fling.

The author is said, at one time or another, to have been a shepherd; and, as such, to possess little learning. Granted that he is not classical; but neither is he unlearned-if to have read and understood, as it is obvious Mr. Hogg has done, most of the best books in our own language can raise a man above the imputation of being destitute of learning.

His present work possesses very considerable merit. The language, as far as the second Canto, will be obscure to the English reader, being in the broadest Scotch dialect; but in that division of the poem, perspicuity and genius become alike visible. The language of poetry can never be too perspicuous, the imagination must be seized and fired at once, and not be left unemployed till a second or third reading remove its obscurities. There is in this little work a considerable variety of verse. Its stanzas, however, are not nearly so tiresome as those of some others of the fanciful productions of the day.

We could wish the author had written his whole poem in blank

verse, in which he excels. His rhymes in the heroic measure are frequently stiff and formal; and the pyebald metre of the last Canto, written in imitation of Mr. Scott, and the race of poetic romancers, is inferior to the preceding portion of the poem, from the very circumstance of its being in that light undignified style. The close of the first part is very pretty; but the second Canto is more-it is in several passages even sublime. Nothing of a recent

date and in the same measure excels it. The first Canto begins thus:

Of all the lasses in fair Scotland,

That lightly bound o'er muir and lea,
There's nane like the maids of Yarrowdale,
Wi' their green coats kilted to the knee.
O! there shines mony a winsom face,
And mony a bright and beaming ee;
For rosy health blooms on the cheek,
And the blink of love plays o'er the bree.

But ne'er by Yarrow's sunny braes,
Nor Ettrick's green and wizzard shaw,
Did ever maid so lovely won,

As Mary Lee of Carrelha'.

2d Canto.

Harp of Jerusalem! how shall my hand
Awake thy Hallelujahs! -How begin
The song that tells of light ineffable,

And of the dwellers there! The fountain pure,
And source of all-Where bright Archangels dwell,
And where, in unapproached pavilion, framed
Of twelve deep veils, and every veil composed
Of thousand thousand lustres, sits enthroned
The God of Nature! -O thou harp of Salem,
Where shall my strain begin? Soft let it be,
And simple as its own primeval airs;
And minstrel, when on angel wing thou soar'st,
Then will the harp of David rise with thee.

3d Canto:
Imperial England, of the ocean born,
Who from the isles beyond the dawn of morn,
To where waste oceans wash Peruvia's shore,
Hast from all nations drawn thy boasted lore.
Helm of the world, whom seas and isles obey,
Tho' high thy honors, and tho' far thy sway;
Thy harp I crave, unfearful of thy frown,

Well may'st thou lend what erst was not thine own.

4th Canto.

The night wind is sleeping, the forest is still,
The blair of the heath cock has sunk in the hill,
Beyond the gray cairn of the moor is his rest,
On the red heather bloom he has pillow'd his breast;
There soon with his note the grey dawning he'll cheer,
But Mary of Carrel' that note will not hear!

The fable of this little work is this: Mary Lee, a fair and no doubt a very virtuous shepherdess, is conveyed by some benignant spirit to the Sun, from whence she is indulged with a full view of all the bodies in the solar system, as well as gratified by hearing and witnessing the extatic employment of the saints and angels who surround the throne of the Almighty: for Mr. Hogg, considering the centre of the Sun as that of nature, places there both the beatifier and the blessed. It is thirty years since the learned Dr. W. Thomson wrote an entertaining novel, called "The Man in the Moon;" and on his ingenious fiction is founded that of the present author. The former, however, was chiefly of a political nature; and took care to bring back its hero, C. J. Fox, to London, but without promising that he should ever revisit the Moon, dead or alive. The latter is of a character becomingly moral, but chiefly religious; and sets Miss Mary Lee down among her own sheep, with an engagement that she, with some other very good people, shall after death be conveyed to the Sun as the destined abode of the just-Ought not the author to have favored us with the average state of the thermometer at the centre of our system?

ART. VI. Reasons for the Classical Education of Children of both Sexes. By John Morell, LL. D.

We must confess ourselves rather surprised at the title of this work, having always considered the necessity of classical learning, to form and finish the character of a gentleman, as an established point, standing firmly upon the basis of experience, and not requiring the additional prop of any arguments or "reasons." And as to the other sex, so much has been said upon the subject, and so unsuccessfully, by the able pen of the ingenious and ill-fated Mary Wolstonecraft, whose notion of female physicians, female barristers, and female financiers, cannot be named without a smile, or reflected on without pity for the absurdities, into which a passion for theory may lead superior minds, that we cannot forbear marvelling at a fresh attempt to assimilate those whom nature and custom agree to keep distinct, but not divided: to people our

nurseries and drawing-rooms with a race of she-schoolboys, and to make the last best work of nature, whose 'prentice han' she tried on man, before she made the lassies O-" any thing but what she is, or ought to be, the charm and solace of domestic life, the companion of man-not his rival.

We disclaim that selfish, illiberal stupidity, which would deny the capacity of females to attain to classical knowledge, or make progress in the paths of polite literature; and which settles every discussion on the subject, by the invidious restriction to the eter nal" shirt" and "pudding." Elevation of sentiment, brilliancy of wit, and clearness of judgment, we every day find among women. We could wish them to have a taste for learning, not a voracious appetite: we would have literature be their pleasure, not their business.

The arguments upon this hacknied subject seem capable of being comprised under two heads,-1. Can women be taught Greek and Latin? 2. Will they be the better for being taught Greek and Latin? The first we grant, the second we deny in toto. As a general practice and obligation, we heartily disapprove the idea of making classical belles. To all rules there will arise exceptions. Once or twice in an age, a masculine understanding may drop by chance into a female form; and we are amazed at finding in the world a Madame Dacier, a Mrs. Carter, a Donna Agnesi, or an Elizabeth Smith. But these prodigies were not produced by a regular process of classical study: they were instructed just like other females; and they attained the heights of Literature and science through genius and industry alone.

We should not create more Burns's or Bloomfields, by setting eur ploughboys and shoemakers' apprentices to read the Seasons and the Georgics; nor should we have more examples of female talent and learning, by condemning our smiling young females to share with their brothers the drudgery and coarseness of the schools.

But it will be said that it is not proposed to make women complete scholars, but only to correct their ideas and conversation. We blush for the want of gallantry in our countrymen. Is there one thinking, speaking, or writing man among us, who is so unhappy as not to know several women whom no scientific lectures could make more lovely, no academic honors more attractive? A word spoken by a beautiful mouth may reach the heart of a profound linguist, although the derivation of it be not accurately ascertained; and a sentence may delight a classic ear, although its structure be not exactly conformable to the rules of Aristotle, Longinus, and John Horne Tooke. Love, like galvanism, requires the application of bodies somewhat dissimilar-no flame can be VOL. I. Aug. Rev. NO. I.