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glory and triumph of human nature, display themselves in the concentration of patriotism or devotion, then the genius of Moore expands and kindles, and his strains are nobly and divinely lyrical. If Burns surpass him in simplicity and pathos-as certainly does he surpass Burns in richness of fancy -in variety of illustration-in beauty of language in melody of verse-and, above all, in that polished unity, and completeness of thought and expression, so essential in all lyrical composition, and more particularly so in songs, which, being short, are necessarily disfigured by the smallest violation of language, the smallest dimness, weakness, or confusion in the thought, image, sentiment, or passion.

Entertaining the opinion which we have now imperfectly expressed of Mr Moore's poetical character, we opened Lalla Rookh with confident expectations of finding beauty in every page; and we have not been disappointed. He has, by accurate and extensive reading, imbued his mind with so familiar a knowledge of eastern scenery-that we feel as if we were reading the poetry of one of the children of the Sun. No European image ever breaks or steals in to destroy the illusion every tone, and hue, and form, is purely and intensely Asiatic-and the language, faces, forms, dresses, mien, sentiments, passions, actions, and characters of the different agents, are all congenial with the flowery earth they inhabit, and the burning sky that glows over their heads. That proneness to excessive ornament, which seldom allows Mr Moore to be perfectly simple and natural-that blending of fanciful and transient feelings, with bursts of real passion-that almost bacchanalian rapture with which he revels, amid the beauties of external nature, till his senses seem lost in a vague and indefinite enjoyment-that capricious and wayward ambition which often urges him to make his advances to our hearts, rather by the sinuous and blooming byeways and lanes of the fancy, than by the magnificent and royal road of the imagination-that fondness for the delineation of female beauty and power, which often approaches to extravagancy and idolatry, but at the same time, is rarely unaccompanied by a most fascinating tenderness-in short, all the peculiarities of his genius adapt him for the composition of an Oriental Tale,

in which we are prepared to meet with, and to enjoy, a certain lawless luxuriance of imagery, and to tolerate a certain rhapsodical wildness of sentiment and passion.

There is considerable elegance, grace, and ingenuity, in the contriv ance, by which the four Poems that compose the volume are introduced to the reader. They are supposed to be recited by a young poet, to enliven the evening hours of Lalla Rookh, daughter of the Emperor of Delhi, who is proceeding in great state and magnificence to Bucharia to meet her destined husband, the monarch of that kingdom. Of course, the princess and the poet fall desper ately in love with each other and Lalla looks forward with despair to her interview with her intended husband. But perhaps most novel readers. will be prepared for the denouement better than the simple-minded Lalla Rookh, and will not, like her, be startled to find, that Feramorz the poet, and Aliris the king, are one and the same personage. All that relates to Lalla Rookh and her royal and poetical lover, is in prose-but prose of so flowery a kind, that it yields no relief to the mind, if worn out or wearied by the poetry. Neither do we think Fadla deen, that old musty Mahomedan critic, in any way amusing-though he sometimes hits upon objections to the poetry of Feramorz, which it might not be very easy to answer. Can it be, that a man of genius like Mr Moore is afraid of criticism, and seeks to dis arm it by anticipation? But let us turn to the poetry.

The first poem is entitled, "The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan."* It opens thus:

"IN that delightful Province of the Sun, The first of Persian lands he shines upon, Where all the loveliest children of his beam, Flowrets and fruits blush over every stream, And, fairest of all streams, the Murga roves Among Merou's + bright palaces and groves ;

belief

There, on that throne, to which the blind Of millions rais'd him, sat the Prophet-chief, The Great Mokanna. O'er his features hung The Veil, the Silver Veil, which he had flung

language, Province, or Region of the Sun. Khorassan signifies, in the old Persian

SIR W. JONES. One of the Royal Cities of Khorassan.

1817.1

Review-Lalla Rookh

In mercy there, to hide from mortal sight
His dazzling brow, till man could bear the
light

For, far less luminous, his votaries said,
Were ev'n the gleams, miraculously shed
O'er Moussa's cheek, when down the mount
he trod,

All glowing from the presence of his God!"

This Mokanna is an Impostor, who
works upon the enthusiasm of his fol-
lowers by the assumption of a divine
character and whose ostensible object
is the destruction of all false religions,
and every kind of tyranny and des-
potism. When these glorious objects
are attained, he is then to throw aside
his Silver Veil, and admit the ennobled
souls of men to gaze upon his re-
fulgent visage. In reality, however,
he is a Being of a fiendish and de-
moniac nature, hating God and man,
and burning for power and empire,
that he may trample upon human
nature with derision, mockery, and
outrage, and thus insult and blas-
The dominion
pheme the Eternal.

which he exercises over his supersti-
tious proselytes the successful pro-
gress of his career-his lofty, wild, and
mysterious doctrines the splendour of
his kingly state-the gorgeous magni-
ficence of his array-the rich moresque-
work of his Haram-and the beauties
from a hundred realms which it en-
closes are all described with great
power and effect, though not unfre-
quently with no little extravagance and
exaggeration. In his Haram is Zeli-
ca, the heroine of the poem, whom the
supposed death of her lover Azim has
driven into a kind of insanity. Mo-
kanna so works upon the phrenzied
enthusiasm of her disordered mind, as
to convince her, that before she can
enter into heaven, she must renounce
her oaths of fidelity to Azim, and bind
herself for ever on the earth to him,
the Impostor. He conducts her into a
charnel-vault, and there, surrounded
with the ghastly dead, she takes the
fatal oath, and seals it by a draught of
human blood. Meanwhile, Azim re-
turns from foreign war, and joins the
banners of the Impostor. He then dis-
covers the wicked arts of Mokanna,
and the ruin of Zelica-abandons the
Silver Veil-joins the army of the Ca-
liph, and routs the Prophet-chief in
various battles, till he forces him and
his remaining infatuated followers to

Moses

shut themselves up in a fortress. Mo-
kanna, finding farther resistance in
vain, poisons all his troops-and after
venting his rage, hatred, and con-
tempt on Zelica, leaps into a cistern of
such potent poison, that his body is
dissolved in a moment. Zelica covers
herself with the Silver Veil, and Azim,
leading the storming party, mistakes
her for Mokanna, and kills her.

We could present our readers with
many passages of tenderness and beauty
from this singular Poem; but as we
shall have occasion to quote some
stanzas of that character from "Para-
dise and the Peri," we shall confine
ourselves to two extracts, in which Mr
Moore has successfully attempted a
kind of composition new to him; the
one describing the armament of the
Caliph as he marched against the Im-
postor, and the other, the last fatal
feast, at which Mokanna poisons the
adherents of his fallen fortunes.

"Whose are the gilded tents that crown
the way,

Where all was waste and silent yesterday?
This City of War, which, in a few short

hours,

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Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star,
Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers
Built the high pillared halls of Chilminar,
Had conjured up, far as the eye can see,
This world of tents, and domes, and sun-
bright armory!—

Princely pavilions, screened by many a fold
Of crimson cloth, and topped with balls of
gold;

Steeds, with their housings of rich silver

spun,

Their chains and poitrels glittering in the

sun;

And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's shells,
Shaking in every breeze their light-toned

bells!

But yester-eve, so motionless around,
So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound
But the far torrent, or the locust-bird+
Hunting among the thickets, could be

heard;

Yet, hark! what discords now of every
kind,

Shouts, laughs, and screams, are swelling

in the wind!

"The edifices of Chilminar and Balbec are supposed to have been built by the Genii, acting under the orders of Jan Ben Jan, who governed the world long before the time of Adam."

"A native of Khorassan, and allured tain between Shiraz and Ispahan, called the southward by means of the water of a founFountain of the Birds, of which it is so fond, that it will follow wherever that water is carried."

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the grave

Compassed him round, and, ere he could repeat

His message through, fell lifeless at her feet!

Shuddering she went a soul-felt pang of fear,

A presage that her own dark doom was near, Roused every feeling,, and brought Reason back

Once more, to writhe her last upon the rack. All round seemed tranquil; even the foe had ceased,

As if aware of that demoniac feast, His fiery bolts; and though the heavens looked red,

'Twas but some distant conflagration's spread.

But, hark!-she stops-she listens-dreadful tone!

"Tis her Tormentor's laugh--and now a groan,

A long death-groan, comes with it-can this be

The place of mirth, the bower of revelry?
She enters-Holy Alla! what a sight
Was there before her! By the glimmering
light

Of the pale dawn, mixed with the flame of brands

That round lay burning, dropped from lifeless hands,

"This trumpet is often called in Abys sinia, nesser cano, which signifies the note of the eagle,"Note of Bruce's editor.

She saw the board in splendid mockery spread,

Rich censers breathing,garlands over head,

The urns, the cups, from which they late had quaffed,

All gold and gems, but-what had been the draught?

Oh! who need ask, that saw those livid guests,

With their swollen heads sunk blackening on their breasts,

Or looking pale to heaven with glassy glare, As if they sought, but saw no mercy there; As if they felt, though poison racked them through,

Remorse the deadlier torment of the two! While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train

Of their false Chief, who on the battle-plainWould have met death with transport by his side,

Here mute and helpless gasped ;-but aş they died,

Looked horrible vengeance with their eyes'. last strain,

And clenched the slackening hand at him. in vain.

Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare, The stony look of horror and despair, Which some of these expiring victims cast Upon their souls' tormentor to the last ;— Upon that mocking Fiend, whose Veil now raised,

Show'd them, as in death's agony they gazed,

Not the long promised light, the brow," whose beaming

Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming,

But features horribler than Hell e'er traced On its own brood-no Demon of the Waste," No church-yard Ghole, caught lingering in the light

Of the blessed sun, e'er blasted human sight With lineaments so foul, so fierce, as those Th' Impostor now in grinning mockery shows.

There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, your Star

Ye would be dupes and victims, and ye are. Is it enough? or must 1, while a thrill Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still?

Swear that the burning death you feel within Is but a trance, with which heaven's joys

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1817.3

Review-Lalla Rookh.

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And that but see!ere I have half-way said

My greetings through, th' uncourteous souls

Farewell, sweet spirits! not in vain ye die,
If Eblis loves you half so well as I.
Ha, my young bride!-'tis well-take
thou thy seat;

Nay, come-no shuddering-didst thou

The Dead before? they graced our wedding, sweet,

And these my guests to-night have brimmed

Their parting cups, that thou shalt pledge
But-how is this ?-all empty? all drunk
up?

Hot lips have been before thee in the cup,
Young bride, yet stay-one precious drop

Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' veins!-
Here, drink and should thy lover's con-
quering arms

Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its charms,
Give him but half this venom in thy kiss,
And I'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss."

From this very general outline of
the story, and from these extracts, our
readers will perceive that this singular
Poem abounds in striking, though
somewhat extravagant, situations, in-
There is
cidents, and characters.
something very fine in the Vision of
the Silver Veil floating ever in the van
of battle, and in the unquaking and
invincible faith of the Believers in the
mysterious Being whose glories it is
supposed to shroud. The wildness
and madness of religious fanaticism
entempests and tumultuates the whole
Poem; and perhaps that fanaticism
strikes us with more mournful and
melancholy awe, from the wickedness
of him who inspires it, and who re-
joicingly awakens both the good and
bad passions of man, to delude, to
mock, and destroy him.

The character of Mokanna is, we think, originally and vigorously conceived, though perhaps its formation is attributed too exclusively to the gnawing sense of his hideous deformity of countenance. But this is an Eastern tale; and in all the fictions of the East, whether they regard characters or events, nature is described only in her extravagancies. Nor does this proceed solely from the wayward imagination of Eastern genius; for the history of those mighty kingdoms exhibits the wonderful career of many a wild and fantastic spirit, many a dream-like change, many a mysterious revolution.

Thrones have been overturned, and
altars demolished, by, men starting
suddenly up in all the power of savage
enthusiasm; and every realm has had
its Prophets and Impostors, its Con-
querors and Kings. The display, in-
deed, of successful imposture in po-
litics or religion has not been confined
to the kingdoms of the East; but
there it has assumed the wildest and
most extravagant form, has sprung
from, and been supported by, the
strongest passions,-and has most la-
mentably overthrown, ruined, and de-
graded, the character of man. Volle

Different, indeed, as the situations
in which Mokanna is placed are to
those of another fictitious personage,
there is, notwithstanding, a striking
similarity in their characters, and in
the causes to which the formation of
that character is attributed,-we mean
the Black Dwarf. He comes deformed
into the world; the injury, scorn,
misfortunes, and miseries, which that
deformity brings upon him, distort
his feelings and his reason,-inspire
him with a malignant hatred of his
kind, and a sullen disbelief in the
goodness of Providence. So far he
bears a general resemblance to Mo-
kanna. But the Black Dwarf is the
inhabitant of a lonely cottage on a
lonely moor; his life is past in a hi-
deous solitude; the few persons who
come in contact with him are low or
ordinary mortals; his hatred of his
kind is sullenly passive, or active only
in bursts of passion, of which man,
rather than men, is the uninjured ob-
ject; while the darkness of his soul
is occasionally enlightened by transient
gleams of pity, tenderness, penitence,
and remorse. But Mokanna starts up
from the unknown region of his birth,
at once a Prophet and a Conqueror; he
is for ever surrounded with power and
majesty; and the "Silver Veil" may
be supposed to be the shrine of incar-
nate Deity. His hatred of man, and
horror of himself, urge him to destroy.
He is the Evil Spirit; nor is he satis-
fied with bloodshed, though it drench
a whole land, unless he can also ruin
the soul, and create wickedness out of
misery. Which of these characters is
the most impressive, we shall not de-
cide. They are both natural; that is
to say, we can conceive them to exist
in nature. Perhaps greater power of
genius was required to dignify and
'impart a character of sublimity to the

wretched and miserable Dwarf, in the stone hut of his own building, than to Mokanna, beneath his Silver Veil, and in his Palace of Porphyry.

The character of Zelica is, in many places, touched with great delicacy and beauty, but it is very dimly conceived, and neither vigorously nor consistently executed. The progress of - that mental malady, which ultimately throws her into the power of the impostor, is confusedly traced; and very frequently philosophical observations and physical facts, on the subject of insanity, are given in the most unempassioned and heavy language, when the Poet's mind should have been entirely engrossed with the case of the individual before him. For a long time we cannot tell whether Mokanna has effected her utter ruin or not, Mr Moore having the weakness to conceal that, of which the distinct knowledge is absolutely necessary to the understanding of the poem. There is also a good deal of trickery in the exhibition he makes of this lady's mental derangement. Whether she be in the Haram, the gardens of the Haram, the charnel-house, or the ramparts of a fortress, she is always in some uncommon attitude, or some extraordinary scene. At one time she is mad, and at another she is perfectly in her senses; and often, while we are wondering at her unexpected appearance, she is out of sight in a moment, and leaves us almost as much bewildered as herself. On the whole, her character is a fail

ure.

Of Azim we could say much, if it were not that the situations in which he is placed so strongly remind us of Lord Byron's heroes. There is nothing like plagiarism or servile imitation about Mr Moore, but the current of his thoughts has been drawn into the more powerful one of Lord Byron's mind; and, except that Azim is represented as a man of good principles, he looks, speaks, and acts, exactly in the style of those energetic heroes who have already so firmly established themselves in the favour of the public. We confess, therefore, that we have not felt for him the interest due to his youth, beauty, valour, misfortunes, and death.

The next poem is entitled, "Paradise and the Peri." It opens thus: "One morn, a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood, disconsolate;

And as she listen'd to the Springs
Of Life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings,

Through the half-open portal glowing, Should e'er have lost that glorious place." She wept, to think her recreant race

The angel who keeps the gates of light then tells the Peri the conditions on which she may be re-admitted into Paradise.

""Tis written in the Book of Fate,

THE PERI YET MAY BE FORGIVEN, WHO BRINGS TO THIS ETERNAL GATE THE GIFT THAT IS MOST DEAR TO HEAV'N!

Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin ;'Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in.'"

The Peri then flies away in quest of this gift, and in a field of battle beholds a glorious youth slain, when endeavouring to destroy the invader of his country. She carries to the gates of Paradise a drop of blood from his heroic heart; but,

"Sweet,' said the Angel, as she gave
The gift into his radiant hand,
Sweet is our welcome of the Brave
Who died thus for their native land.
But see,-alas!-the crystal bar
Of Eden moves not ;-holier far
That opes the gates of heav'n for thee!""
Than ev'n this drop the boon must be,

Once more the Peri wings her flight to earth, and, after bathing her plumage in the fountains of the Nile, floats over the grots, the balmy groves, and the royal sepulchres of Egypt, till at length she alights in the vale of Rosetta, near the azure calm of the Lake of Mæris. This beautiful scene is devastated by the plague, and Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze "Just then, beneath some orange trees, Were wantoning together, free, Like age at play with infancy, Beneath that fresh and springing bower, Close by the Lake, she heard the moan Of one who, at this silent hour,

Had thither stolen to die alone;
One who, in life, where'er he moved,
Drew after him the hearts of many;

Yet

now, as though he ne'er was loved, Dies here-unseen, unwept, by any !" But he is not left alone to die."But see who yonder comes by stealth,

This melancholy bower to seek,
Like a young envoy, sent by Health,
With rosy gifts upon her cheek!
"Tis she-far off, through moonlight dim,
He knew his own betrothed bride;
She, who would rather die with him,
Her arms are round her lover now,
Than live to gain the world beside !→→→

His livid cheek to her's she presses,
And dips, to bind his burning brow,
In the cool lake, her loosen'd tresses

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