No More Learning

Were I impannelled one of the author's
jury, to determine his criminality respecting the sin of poesy, my
verdict should be "guilty! a poet of nature's making! ". It is an
excellent method for improvement, and what I believe every poet does,
to place some favourite classic author in his own walks of study and
composition, before him as a model. Though your author had not
mentioned the name, I could have, at half a glance, guessed his model
to be Thomson. Will my brother-poet forgive me, if I venture to hint
that his imitation of that immortal bard is in two or three places
rather more servile than such a genius as his required:--_e. g. _

"To soothe the maddening passions all to peace. "

ADDRESS.

"To soothe the throbbing passions into peace. "

THOMSON.

I think the "Address" is in simplicity, harmony, and elegance of
versification, fully equal to the "Seasons. " Like Thomson, too, he has
looked into nature for himself: you meet with no copied description.
One particular criticism I made at first reading; in no one instance
has he said too much. He never flags in his progress, but, like a true
poet of nature's making kindles in his course.
His beginning is simple
and modest, as if distrustful of the strength of his pinion; only, I
do not altogether like--

-------------------------------"Truth
The soul of every song that's nobly great. "

Fiction is the soul of many a song that is nobly great. Perhaps I am
wrong: this may be but a prose criticism. Is not the phrase in line 7,
page 6, "Great lake," too much vulgarized by every-day language for so
sublime a poem?

"Great mass of waters, theme for nobler song,"

is perhaps no emendation. His enumeration of a comparison with other
lakes is at once harmonious and poetic. Every reader's ideas must
sweep the

"Winding margin of an hundred miles. "

The perspective that follows mountains blue--the imprisoned billows
beating in vain--the wooded isles--the digression on the
yew-tree--"Ben-lomond's lofty, cloud-envelop'd head," &c. are
beautiful. A thunder-storm is a subject which has been often tried,
yet our poet in his grand picture has interjected a circumstance, so
far as I know, entirely original:--

-----------------------------"the gloom
Deep seam'd with frequent streaks of moving fire. "

In his preface to the Storm, "the glens how dark between," is noble
highland landscape! The "rain ploughing the red mould," too, is
beautifully fancied. "Ben-lomond's lofty, pathless top," is a good
expression; and the surrounding view from it is truly great: the

-----------------"silver mist,
Beneath the beaming sun,"

is well described; and here he has contrived to enliven his poem with
a little of that passion which bids fair, I think, to usurp the modern
muses altogether. I know not how far this episode is a beauty upon the
whole, but the swain's wish to carry "some faint idea of the vision
bright," to entertain her "partial listening ear," is a pretty
thought. But in my opinion the most beautiful passages in the whole
poem are the fowls crowding, in wintry frosts, to Lochlomond's
"hospitable flood;" their wheeling round, their lighting, mixing,
diving, &c. ; and the glorious description of the sportsman.