We regret this the less, seeing that Mr. Campbell has a new poem in the press, entitled Theodric, together with a collection of his minor pieces, when we shall have a more eligible opportunity of entering upon this interesting task.

It is gratifying to know, that one of our numerous periodicals is edited by a man so respected and talented, from whose classical taste, and correct discrimination, every benéficial effect is to be expected. The last number of the New Monthly Magazine contains a pleasing little poem from the pen of the editor. Though devoted to classic exemplars, and adopting their style and manner, he had already shewn, in Lochiel's Warning, and Lord Üller's Daughter, that he was not incapacitated from entering into the romantic land of poesy, and at the same time proved, that the severer graces of a chastened understanding were not inapplicable to the errant and unconfined tale that claims to "flow on as wild as cloud, or stream or gale."

"He boasts no song in magic wonders rife,
But yet familiar, is there nought to prize,
Oh, Nature! in thy bosom scenes of life?
And dwells in daylight truth's salubrious skies,
No form with which the soul may sympathize?"

The action of the poem to which we allude is placed in the age of romance: it is entitled Reullura. Cast in an imaginative mould, it is indebted to the influences of the spiritual world, for the interest which it is peculiarly calculated to excite.

Reullura, in Gaelic, signifies "beautiful star," and is the name of a prophetess, who was the partner of the bower of Aodh, the dark-attired Culdee. The Culdees were Albyn's earliest priests of God, and apparently the only clergy of Scotland from the sixth to the eleventh century. They were of Irish origin, and their monastery, on the island of Iona, or Ikohuill, was the seminary of Christianity in North Britain. Not slavishly subjected to Rome, like the clergy of later periods, they resisted the papal ordinances respecting the celibacy of religious men. But the roof lies low where the Gael once heard the preaching of Aodh. With him, in that temple, pale and faint, stood Reullura, in an hour when her soul was gifted with visions of awe, by the statue of an ancient saint; she eyed the statue's face, and uttered the following prophecy :

“It is, he shall come,

Even he in this very place,
To avenge my martyrdom.
For, woe to the Gael people!
Ulvfagre is on the main,

And Iona shall look from tower and steeple
On the coming ships of the Dane;

And, dames and daughters, shall all

With the ruffian's grasp entwine ?

your

locks

No! some shall have shelter in caves and rocks,
And the deep sea shall be mine.

Baffled by me shall the spoiler return,

And here shall his torch in the temple burn,

Until that holy man shall plough

The waves from Innisfail.

His sail is on the deep e'en now,

And swells to the southern gale.'

Aodh reminds her, that the saint, beside whose form they stood, had for ages slept with the dead :--

66

'He liveth, he liveth,' she said again,

For the span of his life tenfold extends
Beyond the wonted years of men.

He sits by the graves of well-loved friends,
That died ere thy grandsire's grandsire's birth;
The oak is decay'd with old age on earth,
Whose acorn-seed had been planted by him;
And his parents remember the day of dread,
When the sun on the cross look'd dim,
And the graves gave up their dead.

Yet preaching from clime to clime,
He hath roam'd the earth for ages,
And hither he shall come in time
When the wrath of the heathen rages,
In time a remnant from the sword-
Ah! but a remnant to deliver:
Yet, blest be the name of the Lord!
His martyrs shall go
into bliss for ever.
Lochlin*, appall'd, shall put up her steel,
And thou shalt embark on the bounding keel;
Safe shalt thou pass through Lochlin's ships,
With the Saint and a remnant of the Gael,
And the Lord will instruct thy lips

To preach in Innisfail."†

By virtue of her prophetic vision, ere the gathering cry

rose

"Reullura saw far rowers dip

Their oars beneath the sun,

And the phantom of many a Danish ship,

Where ship there yet was none."

At midnight, the watch-fires burst from across the main,

* Denmark.

VOL. I. PART II.

+ Ireland.

G G

and announced the approach of the Danish armament. The islesmen arose from their slumbers, but were too few to contend successfully with the invaders:

"And the holy men of Iona's church

In the temple of God lay slain ;
All but Aodh, the last Culdee,

But bound with many an iron chain,
Bound in that church was he."

According to her own prediction, Reullura plunged from the rocky heights into the ocean.

in the following spirited strain :—

"Then Ulvfagre and his bands

The poem then concludes

In the temple lighted their banquet up,
And the print of their blood-red hands
Was left on the altar cup.

"Twas then that the Norseman to Aodh said,
"Tell where thy church's treasure's laid,
Or I'll hew thee limb from limb.'

As he spoke the bell struck three,
And every torch grew dim
That lighted their revelry.

But the torches again burnt bright,

And brighter than before,

When an aged man of majestic height

Enter'd the temple door.

Hush'd was the revellers' sound,

They were struck as mute as the dead,

And their hearts were appall'd by the very sound

Of his footstep's measured tread.

Nor word was spoken by one beholder,

When he flung his white robe back on his shoulder,
And stretching his arms-as eath

Unrivetted Aodh's bands,

As if the gyves had been a wreath
Of willows in his hands.

All saw the stranger's similitude
To the ancient statue's form;

The Saint before his own image stood,
And grasp'd Ulvfagre's armi.

Then
uprose the Danes at last to deliver
Their chief, and shouting with one accord,
They drew the shaft from its rattling quiver,
They lifted the spear and sword,
And levell'd their spears in rows.
But down went axes and spears and bows,
When the Saint with his crosier sign'd,
The archer's hand on the string was stopt,

And down, like reeds laid flat by the wind,
Their lifted weapons dropt.

The Saint then gave a signal mute,

And though Ulvfagre will'd it not,
He came and stood at the statue's foot,
Spell-riveted to the spot,

Till hands invisible shook the wall,
And the tottering image was dash'd
Down from its lofty pedestal.
On Ulvfagre's helm it crash'd-

Helmet, and skull, and flesh, and brain,

It crush'd as millstone crushes the grain.

Then spoke the Saint, whilst all and each

Of the Heathen trembled round,

And the pauses amidst his speech

Were as awful as the sound:

"Go back, ye wolves, to your dens,' (he cried,)

And tell the nations abroad,

How the fiercest of your herd has died

That slaughter'd the flock of God.

Gather him bone by bone,

And take with you o'er the flood

The fragments of that avenging stone
That drank his heathen blood.

These are the spoils from Iona's sack,
The only spoils ye shall carry back;
For the hand that uplifteth spear or sword
Shall be wither'd by palsy's shock,

And I come in the name of the Lord
To deliver a remnant of his flock.'

A remnant was call'd together,

A doleful remnant of the Gael,

And the Saint in the ship that had brought him hither

Took the mourners to Innisfail.

Unscath'd they left Iona's strand,

When the opal morn first flush'd the sky,

For the Norse dropt spear, and bow, and brand,

And look'd on them silently;

Safe from their hiding-places came

Orphans and mothers, child and dame:

But, alas! when the search for Reullura spread,

No answering voice was given,

For the sea had gone o'er her lovely head,

And her spirit was in Heaven."

The foregoing extract will show that the poem is written with considerable spirit, chastened, however, by the severer grace of the author's excellent and cultivated understanding.

The astonishment resulting from the similitude of the stranger saint to his own image is, in particular, well indicated. The versification of the whole poem is most appropriately varied, according to the nature of the imagery or passion, and in conformity with the transitions of each. Though varying in the number of syllables, each line will be found to possess the same quantity of accent; a species of verse in which Coleridge composed that originally wild and singularly beautiful poem, Christabelle. This correspondence gives a classical uniformity to the variety of the metre, securing all the effect of transition without its abruptness, and which uniformity is further preserved by the different divisions or stanzas, into which the is separated, being of similar length.

poem

The insertion of the productions of such a poet as Mr. Campbell gives a value and dignity to a periodical publication. Until very lately, the prose pieces in such works were too evidently calculated for ephemeral amusement only; and the poetic, even now, by their brevity and inconsequence, are more peculiarly fitted for fugitive existence. It has been our care that the prose essayists of the Philomathic Journal shall have "ample room and verge enough" for important discussion, and that their lucubrations shall not be confined to what is temporary only, but include the permanent and enduring,subjects fitted for all ages and all nations, not merely coming "home to the business and bosoms of men," but entering into the far-stretching ramifications of their social state and relative condition. In our poetical department, we, perhaps, have set the example of opening a periodical journal to the larger contributions of the harmonious Nine, admitting works of pretending magnitude in design, and claiming consideration by their length. And we do hope and anticipate, that their execution and careful finishing will justify the claim they make, and support and establish their title to the attention which they challenge, and their authors evidently expect. It is the wish of the editors of this journal that it may attain a standard reputation, and go down to posterity as a classic work, composed by an association of the lovers of literature, whose endeavours were not more ambitious than meritorious.