favourable to the first canto of my poem entitled 'Napoleon Portrayed.' Poets are proverbially vain, and doubtless frequently partial judges in their own cause; but is vanity absolutely monopolized by the sons of Apollo? Are not critics sometimes vain? From the Britannia,' however, I at least expected even-handed justice, and do still. No work is fairly criticised, unless quotations from it are adduced in support of eulogium or censure. I feel confident, therefore, that you, sir, will readily give insertion to the enclosed extracts from the canto in question, and thus enable your numerous and respectable readers to judge for themselves how far my blank verse rises (for you admit it rises) above mediocrity,—to judge whether my opening canto does or does not afford some pledge that one (Byron's junior by three years only) possesses, even in these times,' a sufficient portion of poetic talent and genius to produce an epic heroic' poem not wholly unworthy public patronage. You acknowledge that, if well written, the poem would be a brilliant one.' Kings have justly been accounted wise or the reverse, according to their choice of good and great, or wicked and imbecile, ministers. It is therefore something in my favour that I have selected a mighty theme for my muse, -one calculated to benefit my country and mankind, by diminishing heroworship, unless the hero idolized be good as well as great,-a Wellington, not a Napoleon,—the defender of his country, not the world's tyrant ! 66 6 6 Byron alone in literature and poetic genius resembles Napoleon; call we him, then, ' a Grand Napoleon of the realms of rhyme,' and let us pursue the comparison. This Napoleon of the Muses. had his Hours of Idleness,' overwhelmed the Scotch Reviewers, as Napoleon (without equal provocation, certainly) destroyed the Sections. His Childe Harold,' hisGiaour,' his Corsair,' his 'Bride of Abydos,' may not inaptly be considered his Lodi, Arcola, Rivoli, and Austerlitz. But a change came o'er the spirit of his dream,' when, in an evil hour, his Muse produced Cain,' Heaven and Earth,' the Vision of Judgment,' and 'Don Juan,' -works as injurious to Byron's moral reputation as Napoleon's fourfold flight from Egypt, Russia, Leipsic, Waterloo,' to his military renown and proud assumption of constancy, fortitude, and indomitable courage. 6 "Don Juan,' Byron's fatal Waterloo! There his towering muse, like Napoleon's eagle banner, was disgraced; proving how true the saying of his prototype, from the sublime to the ridicu lous is but one step.' That step I hope never to take. If my muse cannot soar like Byron's, I am firmly resolved she shall never stoop so low. Dropping metaphor, I shall continue to exert humbler talents in favour of virtue and true religion. The Author of '*' and 'Napoleon Portrayed' will never prostitute his muse by such a poem as Cain,' much less by singing the exploits of such a limb of Satan' as Don Juan, of infamous notoriety. "England has produced abler poets than Byron, as she has mightier warriors than Napoleon-a Shakspeare, a Milton, a Rodney, a Marlborough, a Nelson, a Wellington! "The hand of God is not shortened. "I remain, with respect, 66 Sir, your obedient Servant, "THE AUTHOR OF NAPOLEON PORTRAYED."" N.B-The only answer deigned to the foregoing letter was mockery and added insult. The extracts were refused insertion. Ought such critics to guide the taste, and decide the merits of the literature of a great country? The Author of "Napoleon Portrayed" has the satisfaction of knowing that the most celebrated living poet entertains a widely different opinion of the first canto of his poem, highly approving that, which the sapient editor of the "Britannia" so wisely, so wittily, so remorselessly condemns and ridicules. What need he say more? This king of critics, with a stupid perversity of intellect worthy only of his "weakly" political opponent, turned round upon the unfortunate object of his satire, and accused him of wishing to draw a comparison between Lord Byron and himself! Can anything be more absurdly ridiculous? Such are the critics whom to offend is considered highly dangerous. The Author of "Napoleon Portrayed" fears them not, confident that neither the gallant army of England, nor her navy, by whose prowess, under Providence, our flag has "braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze," nor, finally, the British public, will be directed in their judgments by such "puny titers." Addison was a critic, Blair was a critic; but who are these? The Author cannot take leave of his amiable assailants without a public and unequivocal declaration, that, even were he not the Author of "Napoleon Portrayed," still he could not wish himself the editor of the "Atlas" "Britannia" newspapers. or 28 CRITIQUES, ETC., UPON "NAPOLEON" AND ITS AUTHOR. PRO. Napoleon Portrayed: an Epic Heroic Poem, in Six Cantos. Dedicated to the Duke of Wellington, the first canto of this patriotic poem has been given to the public. Taking this for a specimen, we argue very favourably for the entirety of the work. It opens at a period when Napoleon is about to meet with the first of his great misfortunes, in his invasion of Russia, and all his disasters of the terrible winter of 1812. This gives the poet the opportunity of describing the French army, the beautiful country to which it belonged; and this very naturally leads to its commander Napoleon, of whom there is a rapid yet graphic description, and a brief summary of his youth. With the episodical license permitted to epic poetry, the author takes occasion to commemorate the brilliant exploits of Sir Ralph Abercromby, Sir John Moore, and Sir John Stewart; he then passes to France, and describes the horrors of the French revolution, the part which Bonaparte took in it, and his successful military interposition. It is thus that the dispersion of the national guards of that stormy period is described. "It is Napoleon!-He, as was his wont On grand occasions, planted, pointed, fired The foremost gun, dread signal of attack! At that portentous sound, Peace heavenward flies ; The volumed smoke, which for a while obscured Commander of the army under him, Then to the chief command-where ardent zeal, CON. Napoleon: an Epic Poem. Longman, London, 1845. The red morocco binding of this epic poem is all that binding should be; the paper and print, too, leave nothing to be wished for on the score of neatness and elegance; but when we come to speak of the blank verse in which the poem is written, all that we can say is, that it is very blank indeed! As far, however, as mere scansion is concerned, we have nothing to object to in the lines, for they are correct to a nicety; but, alas! there is no poetry in them-no graceful or sparkling imagery-no impassioned feeling; all is as dull, cold, and barren as the road, according to Sterne's Smellfungus, "from Dan to Beersheba.' The subject of the epic is the achievements of Napoleon, whom the author has taken for his hero, for the singular purpose of abusing him in every page; and "whose conquests," he tells us, "Whose conquests, glories, crimes, and sudden fall No feeble muse may sing. Thy mighty deeds, Proud Corsican, demand Homeric lyre !" Of course the author is satisfied that his is "no feeble muse," or he would scarcely have undertaken to sing of deeds which demand "Homeric lyre;" but we must beg to join issue with him on this point, for his muse is as "feeble" as if she had only just recovered from a six months' attack of influenza, and is far better qualified to sound the praises of General Tom Thumb, than of the Emperor Napoleon. In the march of his verse the author is an evident imitator of Milton, and, like him, is fond of introducing proper names on all occasions; but the swelling, stately, organ-like roll of the melody in "Paradise Lost" is wholly wanting in "Napoleon," which moves heavily on for pages together, at the dull, leaden pace of a broad-wheeled waggon, and without making the slightest approach to music of versification. know not when we have met with so presumptuous a production as the one before us, which, constantly attempting to be brilliant, is constantly dull by mistake. The only tolerable passage in it is the description of the battle of the Pyramids; and even here there is more smoke than fire.-The Sun. We Napoleon: an Epic Poem, in Twelve Cantos. By William Richard Harris. 1 vol. 4to. Longman & Co. Mr. Harris considers "the very idea of writing an epic poem in our times as a proof of great daring." This is certainly not the age for epics, any more than it is for tragedy in its loftier characteristics; and we cannot honestly compliment our author upon his being destined to redeem it from the reproach. Addison's "Campaign" was called "a gazette in rhyme;" "Napoleon" is a series of bulletins and despatches in blank verse. In the tenth canto this line occurs"Retired in great confusion-Blucher now Reaching Ohaim," &c. And a note directs us to the following authority for the fact:"Retired in great confusion.'-Vide the Duke of Wellington's Despatch to the British Government." The volume is beautifully printed, splendidly bound in gold and morocco, and illustrated with two fine Under engravings of Napoleon and Wellington. what persuasion of poetical inspiration Mr. Harris could have written the ten thousand lines and upwards, which are contained in the twelve cantos, we cannot imagine.-John Bull. CRITIQUES, ETC., UPON 66 NAPOLEON" AND ITS AUTHOR. 29 PRO. have marred the fame of any of our poets; but for so "Thus 'like a proud steed rein'd' Napoleon turn'd, The plague his heartless, hopeless ranks assails, If convert to Mahomet's senseless creed- If such, a lovely oasis indeed, Or lonely pilgrim bound to Mecca's shrine, Where branching palms refreshing shade afford, The plague's 'mephitic breath;' while deadly pale, CON. Napoleon: an Epic Poem, in Twelve Cantos. By William Richard Harris. London, 1845. Longman & Co. A superb volume! Its size, the imposing quarto; its paper of the finest; its typography, beautiful exceedingly; its binding gorgeous: whatever others could do to recommend the poet to purchasers has been done. He has been only wanting to himself. The age of epics has past, nor is Mr. Harris destined to revive it. He wants the giant powers necessary to sustain that loftiest of compositions. Well may he confess to having greatly dared; in honesty it must be pronounced that he has not greatly done. "Napoleon" is not destined to survive the century of its birth. The subject is unfortunate. The hero is too nearly associated with our own personal experiences; his story is mingled too much with the realities of life, to be a fit theme for epic poetry. Napoleon indeed is dead, but Wellington lives. To our imagination he cannot, by any force of fancy, be presented other than in his peculiar hat, wearing a coat and trowsers, and Wellington boots; and there is a prejudice against the heroes of an epic being clothed like ourselves-it is too matter-of-fact, and shocks our notions of the heroic in verse. Napoleon will not be a fit subject for an epic for a century at least, nor could all the great genius of a Milton make him such. It is no reflection on Mr. Harris that he should have failed utterly to effect what a Milton would have essayed in vain. But we fear that the qualifications are wanting in Mr. Harris for writing an epic on any theme, however excellent. He is rather a declaimer than a poet. He spins out thousands of lines unexceptionable in metre, flowing in language, but in idea common-place and prosaic. It is a metrical history rather than a poem, for we have looked in vain for bursts of poetry among the descriptions and speeches which might betray the presence of genius in the chronicler. Break up the arrangement in lines, and it might be read as respectable prose; nor would it be discovered that ever it had been intended for any other purpose. In proof of this, let the reader note the following lines: "With skilful hand Napoleon ranges his artillery, Pointing two guns, whose well-directed fire His fearless self-exposure wins the name He, not displeased, smiles at the timely jest." To our ear it sounds very untimely, and as out of place in a poem, as would be a flash of poetic inspiration in a jest-book. This is really not an unfair specimen of the manner of the epic; it is thus that the story is carried along, without the aid of fancy or imagination to throw a halo about common-place persons or things, which, because familiar, seem to us mean. It is to be regretted that Mr. Harris should have wasted so much labour as he must have expended on this ponderous work, and pity it is he did not consult some judicious and truth-telling friend previous to incurring the cost of printing and binding so magnificently a poem which that friend would have told him possesses no intrinsic claim upon the respect of his contemporaries, and cannot hope successfully to appeal from their decision to posterity.-The Critic. PRO. We extract this not for all praise; we object to the change from blank verse to rhyme-a frequent fault throughout the whole work. There is an episode in the description of the burning of Moscow, which we must also quote : "One only traitor, bribed by dazzling gold, The Russian soil disgraced, and Russian name. The law's dread sentence, which enforced, would stretch Upon the torturing rack thy quiv'ring limbs, On the delinquent falling, struck him down : At this affecting and appalling sight, In fearful shrieks from the assembled throng, Then had Napoleon's spy, torn limb from limb, And now, as we have not space to fight the many battles which Mr. Harris's muse happily rises triumphant over, with much address contending with the names of besieged cities, well-fought fields, and generals, most difficult to keep in the rank of poetry, we must conclude our glance at "Napoleon Portrayed". We can add little to our former remarks as to its merits: if we have been critical enough to find blemishes, we will candidly confess, that it is a wonder to us that they are not more rife in so long a poem, containing subjects most refractory; and we sincerely con CON. Napoleon: an Epic Poem, in Twelve Cantos. By William Richard Harris. 4to. 27. 28. Twelve cantos of blank verse upon poor Napoleon! Had the ex-emperor been still living, he surely would have thought this a severer infliction than all the indignities heaped upon him by Sir Hudson Lowe. The author commences his attack on the public with a singularly modest preface, in which he tells us, that, to the best of his knowledge, no English poet since Milton has attempted to write an epic. Verily we believe him, as to the extent of his knowledge; and should have done so, had he further affirmed his total ignorance of such men as Southey or Wordsworth, or of its ever having been laid to their charge that they had perpetrated the poetical offences of "Madoc" and the "Excursion," which last production of an unknown writer Lord Byron has declared to be his "aversion." We almost think, too, that we have somewhere read, or heard of, certain other ponderous quartos, indited by the Laureate, which he, good, easy soul! fully imagined to be epics, when he gave them to the public. We now come to the poem itself. It openeth on the morning of the battle of Moskwa, whereat both Nelson and Wellington seem to be present. Suddenly the poet trieth back and sheweth how, and when, and where his hero was born and educated. He concludeth his first Fytte with the "Day of the Sections." Canto ii. proveth that "Ney is not the bravest of the brave," and giveth us "a glimpse at (qy. of?) Waterloo." Divers choice and original similitudes. The author maketh another jump backwards; and, leaving Waterloo, entereth Bologna in triumph. Canto iii. sheweth Wurmser, or some Austrian Pandour, we really cannot understand which, mounted on a horse with "neck in thunder clothed." -N.B. One Gray hit upon the same idea, but not for a German cavalier.-The poet describeth the fall of a shell; and, to enliven the tedium of blank verse, flingeth in a score of rhymes-all very pretty, and nearly as good as new. Canto iv.-The poet again lapseth into Miltonics, the rhymes, it may be presumed, sticking with him as with honest Iago. He laudeth Marmont and revileth his hero, whom he compareth to "the fiery bolt of Jove."-He also biddeth Massena "not to weep," but to take a snack ("refreshment due partake") and fight again to-morrow. Canto v.-The poet carrieth the bridge of Arcola, and getteth "a glimpse at (qy of?) Blenheim," when the fit of rhyming again seizeth him. He hopeth that all Britain's enemies may, like the devils, enter a herd of swine and be choked in the waters. Canto vi. The poet maketh a speech for his hero, not after the manner of Milton. He telleth But, as Sterne pathetically asks, in his story of Le Fevre, "shall we go on?"-"No!"-Churton's Literary Register. Napoleon: an Epic Poem. By William Richard "Three poets, in three distant ages born, So sung a rhymer in the last century. Had he lived to our time, he would have added "But lo! a fourth appears that beats them all." Some idea of the strength of wing of the inheritor of Homer's, Virgil's, and Milton's triple mantle, may be formed from the fact that it has borne him over twelve immortal cantos, varying in length from 500 to 1500 lines. Some notion of the daring quality of his genius may be gathered from his own recorded opinion of the task he imposed on himself: 'Napoleon, their dread Captain-awful name, Whose conquests, glories, crimes, and sudden fall, No feeble muse may sing! Thy mighty deeds, Proud Corsican, demand Homeric lyre; |