force with which his scenes and situations are brought home to our hearts. The great epic of Milton was written in defiance of the highest degree of these difficulties, yet it is the noblest poem in our language; nor is his Paradise Regained unworthy to be the last work of so great a man. His Samson Agonistes, full of grand sentiments and strains of high philosophy, seems to owe its want of dramatic interest, not to any inherent defect in the subject, but to the cold model of the Grecian tragedy after which it was composed. Cowley appears to have discontinued the writing of his Davideis because it was not worth finishing; but neither would it have been, had the subject been taken from profane history. In our time, Byron, in his dramatic poems, founded on subjects taken from the scriptures, has emancipated himself, as might be expected, even from the most salutary of those restraints which their sacredness imposes on the mind. Along with many interesting situations, and much impassioned sentiment, they contain no small proportion of indecency and blasphemy. His impiety, however, is by no means the consequence of his choice of subjects; his choice of subjects only renders his impiety the more palpable and revolting. Moore, in his Loves of the Angels, is apparently too little in earnest to be deeply interesting; he dallies too idly with his subject, and his pretty amatory language has an unnatural sound in the mouths of celestials. In the instance of Montgomery, however, it should seem that a sacred subject has imparted, to a genius of no great original power, an unwonted spring and vigour, a deeper pathos, and a finer play of imagination. His World before the Flood we think altogether the best of his larger poems. The Sacred Dramas of Milman are admitted to be superior to any thing else which he has written. They certainly possess great tragic effect, and though composed with little skill in the delineation of character, and overloaded with ambitious ornament, are yet much sought after, and read with interest and pleasure. It is owing, we suspect, to some other cause than the chilling influence of such subjects upon the powers of the writers, or their want of attraction over the minds of readers, that the Exodiad of Cumberland is forgotten, that the Conquest of Canaan reposes in the dust of the bookseller's shelves, and that the Sacred Dramas of Miss Hannah More have found little favor in the eyes of the light age for which they were written. In looking over the names of those English poets who have made use of the materials furnished by the sacred writings, it will appear that, generally speaking, wherever great powers of mind have been brought to the work, their exertion has been 1 attended with success; and that those who have written bad poems, owe their failure quite as much to the want of talent as to the unfortunate choice of a subject. Thus we have something better than mere theory to guide us in this discussion. The very history of our literature proves that these materials may be converted to the purposes of poetry, and that although perhaps not the most attractive in their nature, nor the best adapted to the favorable exertion of ordinary talents, they are yet capable of being turned to good account in the hands of a master. If we look at Hadad with a view of seeing in what manner the author has surmounted the difficulties arising from his choice of a subject, we shall be apt to form a high estimate of his powers. Whatever constraint these difficulties may have put upon his invention, he has certainly contrived with great art to remove all appearance of embarrassment from the conduct of the fable, and has constructed his plot, and sketched his characters, with all the felicity and apparent freedom of one who was dealing with a subject, which he was at liberty to mould into any shape that might suit his fancy. Indeed, if we compare this work with Percy's Masque, his earlier dramatic effort, we shall perceive an essential degree of superiority in many of the important qualities of dramatic writing. Every thing about it is better calculated to command and fix the attention, the incidents are more varied and striking, and where there is declamation, it is at least spirited declamation. The characters are more forcibly drawn, and more skilfully distinguished, and there is a deeper infusion of passion-the soul of the drama. The diction, also, though preserving throughout the same character of manliness and vigor, which characterizes the former work, is yet pruned from its defects, and rendered more unaffected, flexible, and idiomatic. Hadad, a principal actor in the fable of this drama, is a son of the king of Syria, detained as an hostage at the court of David. At least, it is in this character that he is first introduced to us, though he afterwards turns out to be a very different sort of personage. He becomes the friend and bosom counsellor of Absalom, and, as in every tragedy, love is of course an important, if not essential ingredient, the lover of his daughter. He incites Absalom to rebel against his father, corrupts the loyalty of Mephibosheth, and endeavours to shake the faith of Tamar, (for such is the name of the daughter of Absalom,) in the religion of her country. There is great beauty in the following dialogue, which is made to introduce an insidious eulogy of Hadad upon the beautiful Syrian mythology, and an attempt to make her doubt the goodness of the Being whom she worshipped: "The garden of ABSALOM's house on Mount Zion, near the palace, overlooking the city. TAMAR sitting by a fountain. Tam. How aromatic evening grows! The flowers, So softly glowing, so contemplative, This day's offences! Ha! the wonted strain, Enter HADAD. Had. Does beauteous Tamar view, in this clear fount, Tam. Nay, Hadad, tell me whence Those sad, mysterious sounds. Had. What sounds, dear Princess? Tam. Surely, thou knowest; and now I almost think Some spiritual creature waits on thee. Had. I heard no sounds, but such as evening sends Up from the city to these quiet shades; A blended murmur sweetly harmonizing With flowing fountains, feathered minstrelsy, And voices from the hills. Tam. The sounds I mean, Floated like mournful music round my head, Had. When? Tam. Now, as thou camest. Had. "Tis but thy fancy, wrought Had. Were we in Syria, I might say The Naiad of the fount, or some sweet Nymph, The goddess of these shades, rejoiced in thee, And gave thee salutations; but I fear Judah would call me infidel to Moses. Tam. How like my fancy! When these strains precede Thy steps, as oft they do, I love to think Some gentle being who delights in us Is hovering near, and warns me of thy coming; Had. Youthful fantasy, Attuned to sadness, makes them seem so, lady. Tam. But how delicious are the pensive dreams Had. Delicious to behold the world at rest. Meek labour wipes his brow, and intermits The curse, to clasp the younglings of his cot; Herdsmen, and shepherds, fold their flocks-and hark! The jar of life is still; the city speaks In gentle murmurs; voices chime with lutes And nature, breathing dew and fragrance, yields A glimpse of happiness, which He, who formed Earth and the stars, had power to make eternal."-pp. 33-36. There is a very pretty and well imagined scene, in which Hadad endeavours to extract from the youthful Solomon the secret of his having received the royal unction to qualify him. for being the successor of David on the throne of Israel,and another of admirable splendor and pathos, in which the Syrian discloses his mysterious knowledge mysteriously obtained, of the nature and occupations of the spiritual beings shut out from heaven, who inhabit the air and the chambers of the earth. In the mean time, Hadad, in order to confirm Absalom in the design of seizing his father's crown, contrives a meeting between him and Balaam-Haddon, a Chaldean soothsayer, in the sepulchre, which David had built to receive his own remains, and had filled with treasures and spoils of nations. "Nothing but gold of Ophir, pearls, and gems Of priceless value. How they catch the lamp beams, Upon a fitful night of clouds. And lo! The marble in whose womb he means to sleep."-p. 81. Balaam-Haddon performs divers incantations; a phantom appears and announces himself as the Genius of the Throne of Israel, who had built up and maintained the greatness of David. Absalom inquires of him in what manner he might secure his lawful birthright. The spirit answers "A hostile planet, near allied to thee, Threatens eclipse and blood; o'ercome but that, 1 And length of days, and glory shall be thine. The principal value of this scene lies in the incident which follows the disappearance of the Genius. Balaam-Haddon is seized with a prophetic ecstacy, in which he darkly predicts the future kingdom of the Messiah. The idea is happily taken from the sublime, but unwilling benediction pronounced by Balaam, the son of Beor, upon the tribes of Israel. As the inspiration passes off, the soothsayer falls into a trance, and the artful Hadad takes this opportunity to persuade Absalom that the prophecy, to which he has just listened, relates to the extent and glory of his own reign. Next, we have the meeting of the conspirators, which is given with great liveliness and spirit. The arrangements for the insurrection are made, and Absalom departs for Hebron, on the pretence of offering a sacrifice, but in reality to take the command of an army of rebels mustered there. In the last scene of the third act, Tamar, from the roof of her father's palace, hears the cry and rush of multitudes, and beholds the confusion of the city, when Absalom is proclaimed king in Jerusalem, and his father is compelled to seek safety in flight. She leaves the house of her father, and takes refuge in the tabernacle. The search made after her, at midnight, by Hadad and Absalom, gives the author an opportunity of setting before us a striking picture of the licentious and tumultuous riot and violence of a city, that had just changed masters. At last the place of her retreat is discovered; Hadad, attended by several of Absalom's guards, goes to the tabernacle, and while the guards enter to require that she attend her father, Hadad, watched at a distance by Maugrabin, one of his creatures, remains intently looking through the vail, when the following scene ensues : "Had. Lo! lo!-the bloody shrine of sacrifice,- Maug. (muttering to himself.) Tempt him, if thou wilt- Break out upon thee-Yea, within the snuff Of that detested incense!-How the wreaths Begin to curl about him!-I'll not risk Had. Wherefore should I tremble ?- |