These last, indeed, may be
rude enough to expect something more for their specie during the present
scarcity of change, than lines to "Young Poets and Poetesses," "Epitaphs
upon Years," Poems "to my Grammatical Niece," "Epistle from Sister Dolly
in Cascadia to Sister Tanny in Snowdonia," etc.: but we doubt not that a
long list of persons of quality, wit, and honour, "in town and country,"
who are here addressed, will be highly pleased with themselves and with
the poet who has _shewn them off_ in a very handsome volume: as will
doubtless the "Butterfly at the end of Winter," provided that he is
fortunate enough to survive the present inclemencies. We are, however,
by no means convinced that the Bellman will relish Mr. S.'s usurpation
of a "Christmas Carol;" which looks so very like his own, that we advise
him immediately to put in his claim, and it will be universally allowed.
With the exception of these and similar productions, the volume contains
poems eminently beautiful; some which have been already published, and
others that are well worthy of present publication. Of "Leonora," with
which it opens, we made our report many years ago (in vol. xx. N.S. p.
451): but our readers, perhaps, will not be sorry to see another short
extract. We presume that they are well acquainted with the story, and
therefore select one of the central passages:
"See, where fresh blood-gouts mat the green,
Yon wheel its reeking points advance;
There, by the moon's wan light half seen,
Grim ghosts of tombless murderers dance.
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