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    The habitations of those radiant tribes That never in the walks of mortal life Had sojourn'd , or with human passions toiTd . Pure were they framed ; and round the skirts of heaven At first were placed , till other dwellers came From other spheres , by human beings nursed . Then , inward , those withdrew , more meet to dwell

    In beatific regions . These again Followed by more , in order regular , Near'd to perfection . It was most apparent Through all created nature , that each being , Cherish'd by savage , cavern ' d in the snow , Or panting on the brown and sultry desert ,

    That all were in progression—moving on Still to perfection . In conformity The human soul is modelled—hoping still In something onward ! Something " , far beyond , It fain would grasp ! Nor shall that hope be lost ! The soul shall hold it—she shall hope , and yearn , And grasp , and gain , for times and ages , more

    Than thought can fathom , or proud science climb . ' ( Vol . ii . pp . 39 , 40 . ) Amen , and amen !—These are noble thoughts for a Scottish shepherd—though there may be something in them which the General Assembly might not quite approve .

    Our other extract shall be from Part Third ; and it assigns , we think , a very fitting doom to the military troublers of our many-troubled wOrld . Let not the reader be surprised at the appearance of the heroic couplet ; for each of the four Parts is written in a different measure : — * Seest thou yon gloomy sphere , through vapours dun , That wades in crimson like the sultry sun ? There let us bend our course , and mark the fates

    Of mighty warriors , and of warriors mates ; For there they toil ' mid troubles and alarms , The drums and trumpets sounding still to arms ; Till by degrees , when ages are outgone , And happiness and comfort still unknown , Like simple babes , the land of peace to win , The task of knowledge sorrowful begin : By the enlighten'd philosophic mind . More than a thousand ages left behind . '—( Ibid . p . 66 . )

    Napoleon weeping over his horn-book ! We have a pleasure in the vision , which will not allow us to cavil at any defects in the lines . Oh 1 when will the Muses cease to-sound the trumpet of false glory ? When will ambition learn the extent of its own crimes ? The only poem of our author ' s that has , we apprehend , the slightest chance of descending tolerably entire to the men of other

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    On the Connexion between Poefag &nd Retigiork . 821

• Citation
  • Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), Sept. 2, 1832, page 621, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1820/page/45/