sequences are inevitably injurious to both parties.

The North American Review. Article, Lord Byron's character and writings.

innocent, it is by far too dear, and the con- acknowledge, and lament; but that he was a confirmed, decided and unalterable infidel, his most intolerant foes will find their inability to prove. If he doubted the Christian faith, he equally doubted the dogmas of unprincipled and abandoned infidelity; and before his troubled and unquiet thoughts had time to subside into a decided system, he was struck down by mysterious fate, in the prime of his existence, and in the noon-light

We do not know to whose pen the public are indebted for this extraordinary article of fifty-nine pages, nor do we care who the writer may be ; but we must express our regret and surprise, that such a production of his glory. should find a place in the North American Review. Byron is in his grave, and there the spirit of persecution and misrepresenta

tion should let him rest.

Since Lord Byron's decease, his memory has been frequently assailed; and although a few have dared to accredit to him some good qualities, yet it is to be feared that no reasonings and no arguments on the part of liberal men, can at present rescue the personal character of this injured man from the ungenerous and wanton calumnies by which it has been aspersed. The community is still blinded by passions and prejudices, which are unceasingly fomented by the artful and the malignant. That Lord Byron was guilty of many an error, that his spirit at times was sceptical on subjects that should always be approached with awe and reverence, that he was not perfection, either in conduct or in principle-all these truths are freely admitted. It is an observation of a French writer, (Voltaire, if our recollection does not deceive us) that "great talents rarely exist, unaccompanied by great faults," and that "les erreurs les plus monstreuses ont toujours été la production des plus grand That this remark is peculiarly génies." applicable to Lord Byron, we are free to allow; yet we cannot perceive the justice of harping eternally on his faults, and overlooking the great virtues that were a component part of his nature. It would seem that whenever genius is arraigned before a worldly tribunal, meek-eyed charity abandons the human breast in despair, and that every malign and intolerant passion guides the reins of opinion.

For Lord Byron's scepticism on matters of religious belief, we offer no apology and no exculpation--that he doubted the divinity of that pure and sublime creed which alleviates the agonies of life, and divests the grave of its horrors, his best friends must

There is a spirit of religion in all great minds. The fire of genius is naturally a pure flame, and if at times it hath shone with unholy light, and scorched and consumed what it should have warmed and vivified, it is because the world has polluted its purity, and perverted its purposes. Let the world then be more charitable in its judgments of erring greatness, and let not frail mortality thus impiously take in its hands the vengeance of Omnipotence, to gratify its own blind rage and insatiable hatred.

Lord Byron's enemies would fain make us believe that he was a thorough demon of darkness, without a single redeeming trait of character-that he was a heartless libertine, and a confirmed infidel. Now, let us test the propriety of these epithets; let us see whether this sceptic on subjects of faith, was not as fully a sceptic with respect to vain and hardened infidelity.

Yet if, as holiest men have deemed, there be
A land of souls beyond that sable shore,
To shame the doctrines of the Sadducee,
And sophists madly vain of dubious lore;
How sweet it were in concert to adore
With those who made our mortal labours light,
To hear each voice we feared to bear no more."
Childe Harold.

Tell us, ye generous and benignant inquiof Byron, ye self-constituted avengers, sitors, who sit in judgment on the memory whose immaculate purity is beyond a doubt, do these lines betray the confirmed infidel? Again

This clay will sink

Its spark immortal, envying it the light
To which it mounts as if to break the link
That keeps us from yon heaven that woos us to its
brink."
Childe Harold.

Before the Chastene humbly let me how
O'er hearts divided, and o'er hopes destroyed."
Childe Harolde.
"The Archangel's trump, not glory's, must awake
Those whom they thirst for "
Childe Harold.

"And when at length the mind shall be all free
From what it hates in this degraded form.
Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be
Existent happier in the fly and worm-
When elements to elements conform,
And dust is as it should be, shall I not
Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm?
The bodiless thought, the spirit of each spot,
Of which e'en now at times I share the immortal lot?"
Childe Harold.

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THE NEW-YORK LITERARY GAZETTE, AND

"But let me quit man's works, again to read His Maker's spread around me."

In

that ever inflicted prosing and dull invective
upon genius, since the day of Zoilus.
Childe Harold
due time we shall canvass his pretensions,
him enjoy his fast-waning consequence, in
not political, but literary; meanwhile, let
the consolatory idea, that all the editors in
America stand in awe of his colossal pow-

Is this the language of the callous infidel, who denies his God, and whose creed is annihilation? Again

"Yet peace be with their ashes-for by them If merited, the penalty is paid

It is not ours to judge, far less condemn

The hour must come when such things shall be made ers: he is not the first Colossus that was

Known unto all, or hope and dread allayed

By slumber on one pillow, in the dust,

Which thus much we are sure must lie decayed;
And when it shall revive, as is our trust,
'Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just."

Childe Harold.

Do these lines breathe the "horrid hope" that the grave is the abode of eternal sleep, or the confidence that the dust shall be raised at the period of judgment?

"The beings of the mind are not of clay;
Essentially immortal, they create
And multiply in us a brighter ray,
And more beloved existence."

"If from society we learn to live,

Childe Harold.

'Tis solitude should teach us how to dieIt hath no flatterers, vanity can give

formed of brass.

One of the most prominent charges advanced by the enemies of Byron, is his Courtesy might induce us to pass by her ladyship in silence; quarrel with his wife. from all the information which we have gabut stern truth obliges us to declare, that thered about her, she was unworthy the affection of a high and spirited man. married him not on the impulse of love, but on that of ambition; and led away by shallow vanity and the jealousy of a weak

She

No hollow aid-alone, man with his God must strive." mind, she poisoned his happiness, and exiled

Childe Harold.

Childe Harold. "I speak not of man's creeds-they rest between Man and his Maker" "Satan chose the wilderness for the temptation of our Saviour "'

Note 17th to Canto 4th of Harold.

"It is to be recollected that the most beautiful and

impressive doctrines of the divine founder of Christianity, were delivered not in the temple, but on the Note 20th Canto 3d of Harold.

mount"

We again ask, what is the spirit of all
Is it that of one upon
these extracts?
whose heart the cold drops of doubt have
fallen, until they have worn away all faith
and all principle? If not, how happens it
that all the Goules who have been satiating
their rapacious appetite on the departed By-
ron, have completely overlooked them?—
Much as they may marvel at the circum-
stance, we can assure them that the noble
poet actually wrote all these, and many
more sentences, fraught with the purest mo-
rality; and it were but fair to array them
in opposition to the exceptionable part of
his writings-but

"The evil that men do, lives after them-
The good is oft interred with their bones."

And this great and gifted genius must share
the common lot of having his merits forgot-
ten, and his misdeeds piled in black columns
above his grave.

him from his country, placing more confidence in the assertions of a low-born and artful dependant, than in the haughty and unyielding honour of a man who was too proud to be insincere. Had Byron been differently wedded, how different would his fate have been-but the melancholy history of his broken affections, impressively enforces the truth which he utters in Harold

Few, none, find what they love, or could have loved."

That he had in his heart all the capabilities for generous confidence and exalted love, none will doubt who know the inseparability of high genius and noble passions; and had

The found such a wife as his friend the de

ceased Shelley found, he would not have wandered from his ancestral hall, to meet a premature death in the land of the stranger.

On the day of Lord Byron's decease at Missolonghi, it was ordered by Prince Maurocordato, that all public offices should be closed for three days, that all the customary festivities of Easter should cease, and that a general mourning should take place for twenty-one days. In alluding to the period μικροί, μεγάλοι, ανδρες καὶ γυναῖκες νικημένοι of Byron's illness, the Prince says, "o από την θλίψιν, ελησμονήσαντο το πασχα And now as to his personal character. We deem it unnecessary to expose the "all classes, the humble and the great, male "His munificent froward and vulgar vituperations of Robert and female, overcome by grief, entirely forWalsh, jr. of the National Gazette, against got the days of Easter." Byron; for Robert Walsh, jr. is as narrow-donations," continues the Prince, "were minded and opinionated as any hypercritic before the eyes of every one, and no one

amongst us ever ceased or ever will cease to consider him, with the purest and most grateful sentiments, our benefactor."

the great theme of human destiny through eternal ages, may well claim the same privilege.

Mr. Dey's discourse opens in the follow

Is this the language which the head of a nation would apply to a profligate and shame-ing manner : less libertine, in whose vile bosom life had just ceased to throb? or is it the grateful tribute of affection and respect to shrouded

worth!

In our next number we shall, with all due deference and courtesy, tilt a lance with the critic in the North American Review; and

As our cause is right,
So be our fortune in this coming fight.'"

A Discourse, delivered in the Middle Dutch
Church, New-York, on June 12th, 1825,
on occasion of the death of Mrs. Mary
Laidlie. By Richard Varick Dey, A. M.
Pastor of the Congregational Church,
Greenfield Hill, Connecticut.

"There is no tie which Death, the great Destroyer, severs for ever upon earth, more endearing in its intimacy-more holy in its nature-more remediless in its dissolution, than that which binds children to an affectionate mother. It is when that loss is felt -when the full sensation of the bereavement first comes home to the bosom of the mourner-when the voice that from childhood sounded so sweetly in the ear, is hushed for ever in the grave-when the eye of love is dull, and glazed in the stillness of apathywhen the lineaments stamped upon the heart, with all its most hallowed associations, are fixed and inexpressive, and have become as the clods of the valley-it is then that the heart-stricken mourner realizes the dreariness-the solitude-the agony of his deprivation.

"Unmindful of the frail tenure of human

This excellent discourse has already passed through a second edition, and from its existence, we float along the current of time, increasing popularity, a third will probably tercept us in our passage; heedless of the annoyed and wearied with the cares that insoon follow. In addition to the masterly blessings God has provided for us, in the manner in which the author has executed tender attachment of a friend that cannot his oration, (its eloquence deserves this title) forget us; until the blow falls, that deprives the subject is well calculated to call forth us of our best earthly comforter; and we the best talents of the speaker, and strong-pass onward forsaken and alone. It is then est interest of the hearer. The exemplary break from the heart, as we pause by every that the tear will start afresh, and the sigh woman whose death gave rise to this anima- spot which her society has linked with meted and impressive address, was well worthy mory-every well-known and well-loved of all eulogy; benevolent without ostenta- scene where childhood sported, or where, in tion, pious without severity, and upright advancing years, her presence encouraged and cheered the developement of intellect without pride, she was one of the few in or feeling-consoled in suffering, or rebuked whom the mild virtues of Christianity shone by its mild and saddened expression, deviain perfection; and the affectionate encomi- tions from duty or excess of passion. Her miums which have been bestowed upon her spirit seems yet to linger in those scenes, and memory, are all founded on the firm basis a silent voice speaks from them to the heart. of truth. The departing hour of such a be"But alas!" the spirit is not there !"— ing is calm and sacred. There are no ter- nor does the form we loved best on earth, dwell longer within those precincts. The rors in its contemplation, no dark recollec-one has gone to God who gave it-the other tions of the past, and no fearful misgivings

of the future.

reposes on its cold pillow, in a slumber so profound, that it will be waked only by the We like the style of Mr. Dey's discourse trump of the Archangel! Faithful memo-it is glowing and warm, at times perhaps in the silence of the night it may stand bery will recall that consecrated image; and almost too ornate, but far superior to the fore the dreaming eye, in some sadly pleasdry didactic manner so prevalent with pul-ing, " phantom peopled" vision :--the voice pit orators. We cannot understand why he, of imagination may summon that form from whose theme is altogether the most impor- its sepulchred repose, and her gentle hand tant to mankind, should not aim his flight at may disrobe it of the pale shroud and the fathe highest pitch of eloquence. If the sub-ded colour of the grave, and present it to jects of human passions and human actions permit the author the use of the boldest images and most impassioned language, surely

and the brightness of beauty :-but no more the enraptured eye in the freshness of life, on earth can we hold communion with that' which we loved so well, and for which we

108

THE NEW-YORK LITERARY GAZETTE, AND

sorrowed so deeply. The bereaved heart | tence rests on a frail foundation. Without
asks of the solitudes-" Where is she !"--
Where?"
and the empty echo answers"

any drawback, Percival's poetry will “bear
comparison with the most tasteful produc-
tions of the mother country." His genius
of the highest order, and posterity will

This is fine writing, and forms an appropriate introduction to the pathetic descrip-is

tion of maternal love which succeeds it. In contrast to this endearing and faithful feeling, the writer portrays the hollowness of worldly friendships—

confirm the assertion.

"We have seen many specimens of American taste and genius, but we think this work one of the most favourable. Dr. Per"Where are the friends of our prosperity, cival resides in Connecticut, is still a young "The Wreck," "Promewhen the evil days come, and the years inan, and was an instance of precocity in his draw nigh, in which we must say we have college studies. no pleasure in them?" When the clouds of theus," and "The Suicide," are pieces the misfortune descend, and poverty and want length of which enables the author to exhibit overtake us-when the heart is sick with his powers of description, and display his the unfulfilment of hope, ..nd the spirit philosophical principles. The first of these droops over its blasted expectations-when is in the simple but effective manner of the cup of life is empoisoned by mischance Wordsworth; and the author writes like a or guile-when the storm hath no rainbow, man of feeling, who has been accustomed to and the midnight hath no star-where then the phenomena of the sea. In "Promeare the flatterers of our cloudless skies, and theus," he displays his physics and his metaWhen the schemes physics; but there is a tinge of that reliour sun-bright hours? of earthly ambition fail, and the hiss of the gious mysticism which, perhaps, for another multitude follows our downfall-whither century, must be indulged among the dehave they departed? Where is the shadow scendants of the gloomy fanatics w..o first that attended us, when the sun has veiled peopled New-England, and whose prejudihis beams? Where are the summer-birds, ces still restrain the free exertion of Ameriwhen the voice of winter sighs in the leaf- can intellect. But for this drawback, the less forests?-Alas! It is but interest-or Poems would bear comparison with the convenience or habit-or fashion-that most tasteful productions of the mother preserves the friendship of mankind. If we country." apply the test to their sincerity, how often will we find them true to their former proDIED-By the scorn, neglect, and scanfessions? Their affection, even if undissembled, is fickle and changeable; for their interests are diverse from ours; their plans dal of a generous public, the genuine and As from the ashes of the fabled of aggrandizement, or their views of gratifi- legitimate English drama, aged about 300 cation may clash with our own; and then farewell to confidence and kindness! Where are the friends of this world, when the mouth Phoenix rise another, so, from the manes of of calumny has breathed mildew and pesti- the drama have sprung up a spurious familence over the promise of our growing re-ty, whose only merit and claim to life is the putation?-Where are they, when the taint great display of mountains, cataracts, raging of worldly dishonour has fallen on our heads, oceans, thunders, lightnings, storms, guns, inexpressible dumb-shows, and a thousand and shame, whether deserved or not, has other such nothings. pointed us out for scorn and mockery ?— They have gone to worship the rising sun; and left perhaps their former benefactor to pine in gloomy solitude over their ingrati-such is the way of this world !—a stranger tude, and to feel the biting memory of "benefits forgot."

From these extracts our readers will be convinced that in accrediting to the author fine genius and cultivated taste, we are not using the words without their proper and just application.

years.

OBITUARY.

As soon as a near and dear friend dies

soon becomes no more a stranger, but usurps the place, and reigns emperor of the breast which was wont to be the sole domain of the deceased.

It is thus with the old drama-we see thousands crowding to the theatre, and gazing with delight and admiration on the "splendid spectacles," where their former beloved friend used to shine in all the splen

The London Monthly Magazine contains
the following notice of Dr. Percival's Po-dour of genius and applause.

ems.

The praise bestowed upon them is

Perhaps it may be necessary to give a

merited; but the exception in the last sen-history of the disease of which the friend

we now lament, died-it is done in a few | And though hell yawn beneath, and the lightnings flash