785 ART. IL-1. The Field of Waterloo; By WALTER SCOTT, 8vo. 5s. 2. Waterloo; by EDMUND L. SWIFT, Barrister at Law. 5s. 3. Waterloo, an Heroic Poem, by the author of "The General Post Bag," "Rejected Odes," &c. &c. 4to. 17. 5s. !~ 4. The Heroes of Waterloo, an Ode, By W, S. Walker, of Trinity College, Cambridge, 1s. 6d. 5. The Battle of Waterloo, by GEORGE WALKER. Svo. 3. 6. Wellington's Triumph, or the Battle of Waterloo, by WILLIAM THOMAS FITZGERALD, Esq. 8vo. 1s. 7. An Ode on the Victory of Waterloo, by ELIZABETH COBBOLD. 8vo. 1s. 6d. THE difficulty of celebrating contemporary actions and familiar subjects, has been long felt and universally acknowledged. It arises from an obvious cause. We all know that to enable us to impart any high interest to poetry, a certain degree of illu sion is necessary. Objects or events founded on matters of fact, of which many readers have been witnesses, and with whose details all are acquainted, can afford the poet no scope for exercising his powers of invention, and but few opportunities of recurring to the playful sallies and enchanting agency of fancy. If, in describing a recent event, the poet yenture to indulge enthusiasm, he will be in great danger of exaggerating and exaggeration in matters where the cold reality is before the eyes of a reader, will seldom fail to excite ridicule. Great moral, political, or military events may be, compared to those ruder productions of art, which on a near inspection appear coarse, rugged, and mis-shapen; but when surveyed at a proper distance, lose their harsher features, and are seen to possess symmetry and just proportion. To be seen to full advantage, they must be contemplated through the medium of memory, enriched by various associations: they then become mellowed and softened; the harsher points of the prospect are subdued, and it assumes a tone like that of the landscape illumined by the mild beams of the autumnal moon. If Addison's Campaign' could not escape the censures of an eminent critic, who characterised it as a mere gazette in rhyme, how much have we to fear for the poets of our own day? Fortunately, they have no fear for themselves: the reader has but to glance at the list which heads this article, to see how many have come confidently to the task of celebrating an achievement, as far superior to that commemorated by Addison, as his poem is to any of those which it is our present business to notice. Of these efforts, the principal in point of interest and merit of execution, are Walter Scott's, Swift's, and that of the Anonymous Author of the Heroic Poem. Scott's Field of Waterloo possesses the peculiarities of his former productions. It displays the feeling and tenderness, the picturesque and realizing effect, which he knows so well how to impart to his incidents and descriptions. Mr. Swift is far from being an indifferent poet. His poem is short, and contains but little immediately descriptive of the deeds of Waterloo; yet that little is full of vigour and interest. We think, however, that the public will have reason to complain of the price at which they must purchase pamphlets of such a thin airy form as those just mentioned. Scott has five and thirty pages, Swift only sixteen, and yet five shillings is the price of each-a sum quite sufficient for both. Had we been consulted on this point we should have exclaimed, with Dryden: "Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown.' The Heroic Poem' is characterized by a kind of turgid vehemence, a confusion of metaphor, a constant endeavour to unite images and things which no laws of association permit to come together; and the author loses himself completely in some of his attempts to attain sublimity-professus grandia, turget. It is right to apprize the reader, that the extracts we have given from this author are among the best parts of his poem. The two first of the above writers have entered but little into the dreadfulpomp and circumstance of war.' They have pursued a more pleasing course by dwelling on the softening recollections of the bloody scene; by hailing its present, and anticipating its future beneficial results to Europe and to mankind. On the contrary, the Author of the Heroic poem,' though not a minute chronicler of what happened in the field, has descended to a more detailed account of events. The following extracts will be found to be so arranged, as to give the reader an idea of the merits of these productions, and at the same time to present a tolerably correct view of the principal features of the ever memorable scene. Walter Scott's poem opens with a view of the scenery and present appearance of the field of battle. The poet asks; "Now, see'st thou aught in this lone scene And where the earth seems scorch'd by flame, So deem'st thou so each mortal deems, Than that which peasant's scythe demands, With bayonet, blade, and spear. - Fell thick as ripen'd grain; The corpses of the slain. Aye, lool: again-that line so black And close beside, the harden'd mud, These spots of excavation tell The ravage of the bursting shell And feel'st thou not the tainted steam, That reeks against the sultry beam, From youder trenched mound? The pestilential fumes declare That carnage has replenish'd there Her garner-house profound." This is in Scott's best manner; nor do we consider the following picture given by Swift of the assemblage of the troops as inferior in spirit and energy : "They come !--The world in arms!-The nations come, From every clime they strike the distant drum, VOL. I. 3 F The tillers of a thousand plains are here, Flashing on high the brand and bayonet; "Prussia!-Thy war-worn sons their line array, The Landwehr spreads its lengthening multitude; And every head is plumed, and every sword is bare. When from the West, the South, the rugged North, And snow-white Albion blend their strength in one?— Of Belgic, of Bavar, of Russe or Dane, And legions stretched beyond her eye's last strain; Helvetia!-there descends thine Avalanche of war." The conflict is thus described by the anonymous author of the Heroic poem. "Hark to that crash!-was it tempest born And rolls it down from the arch of heaven? The storm roars loud; swift speed the fires The drooping glade is wet with blood; By the dear memory of the past, : By mighty triumphs won, On-as thou lovest a conqueror's naine, Britons be bold! your fathers stood, Let not Aboukir's wreaths be torn, i Mixed with the leaves of shame. Be stout of heart, and strong of arm: On gallant guards, for by your side, On, brave Macdonnell, give the word, And win the glorious day. Great was that charge-hurrah! they yield! Her lofty eagles fly: As erst when Moskwa lock'd her streams, Shot from an hostile sky." Blucher's perilous situation entangled under his dead horse, and his hair-breadth escape, are told with much spirit: "New aids arrive, the strengthen'd foe Now, Blucher, spur thy steed; He falls: protecting power that spread His buckler and his guide Heaven hears th' unfinish'd prayer; the storm |