magnificence. Had the poet spoken of the Andes as a chain or assemblage of mountains, this image would have been more in keeping."
Let us see. We are glad that "the last line deserves applause," and we join in the general "ruff." That "a mountain, viewed at a distance, may be visible above as well as below the clouds," is a rare observation, that shows the critic is familiar with nature. We cannot say that we see any "vague magniloquence" in "Andes, giant of the western star,"—but, nevertheless, are pleased to think "that it shall be allowed to pass." "The western star,"—if we mistake not—is a poetical image, significant of the "whereabouts" of the giant—somewhat vague, no doubt—but meant to be so—for his latitude and longitude are both well known to navigators. The passage is said to "be disfigured by the introduction of too many points of similitude with human grandeur." Andes "is allowed" to be a giant—and to sit on a throne of clouds; but "with meteor-standard to the winds unfurl'd" spoils all—and the pensive public thinks of O'Doherty. So did not we—though we have recited the passage to ourselves and others a thousand times—till assured by the reviewer that it "inevitably suggests ideas of military pomp, if not of military office" and then indeed we beheld the head of the Standard-bearer. Yet may we be permitted to hint, that Andes is not represented by Mr Campbell as the Adjutant. If we mistake not, Milton somewhere speaks of Black Night and her standard—without meaning that she bore a commission in his internal majesty's service. Andes, though a solitary giant, desired to see and to be seen—o'er and by "half the world." Therefore, he kept occasionally streaming a meteor round his head and shoulders—furnished him by the atmosphere of the Western Star—and the poet chooses to call this a meteor standard to the winds unfurl'd" without a thought at the time, we verily believe, of the Irish Ensign. A meteor-standard, we cannot, for the life of us think, "accords ill with the mountain's solitary and severe magnificence;" on the contrary, 'tis an image that shows him to us superbly arrayed in his regalia, with the elements, his flaming ministers. In nature he may be "a chain or assemblage of mountains"—but if he be, we commend Mr Campbell for keeping his thumb on that circumstance; nor do we distinctly see, with the critic, how the "image would have been more in keeping with a chain"—or even with "an assemblage"—for if he will have it that the mountains were all drawn up like an army, then Andes, who carried the colours, had no right to sit upon a throne, but ought to have been with his own regiment.
The reviewer, reverting to his remarks on the passage about the home-sick sailor, goes on to say,—
"The same may be said, with still greater justice, of the descriptions which immediately follow. The ardent expectations of a youth of genius were to be represented. Hope descends in the form of an angel, and after 'waving her golden wand,' proclaims the various glories that await on the successful prosecution of science, philosophy, or the muse. There is here much skilful verse, but is there one glow of honest enthusiasm? That Hope should have been personified, and made the speaker on the occasion, is an inauspicious commencement; but was Mr Campbell's imagination so inextricably involved in the mythology of Greece, that he could not put into her mouth an address to the young poetical aspirant somewhat nearer to our feeling than such as this?—
'Turn, child of Heaven, thy rapture-lighten'd eye
To Wisdom's walks, the sacred Nine are nigh:
Hark! from bright spires that gild the Delphian height,
From streams that wander in eternal light,
Ranged on their hill, Harmonia's daughters swell
The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell;
Deep from his vaults the Loxian murmurs flow,
And Pythia's awful organ peals below.'"
Here again we shall answer the reviewer by a quotation of the entire passage:—
"Congenial Hope! thy passion-kindling power,
How bright, how strong, in youth's untroubled hour!
