SATAN came, and whispered treason
All against her gentle sway;

Then the PASSIONS spurned at REASON,
And they wandered each their way.
'LOVE chose FOLLY, ANGER Madness,
FEAR had GUILT to be her guide;
Jor walked arm in arm with SADNESS,
HOPE had ENVY at her side.

REASON wandered all forsaken:
When she sang her sweetest song,
Not a PASSION would awaken,
Through the mutineering throng.

Blind to her celestial beauty,
Deaf to her celestial strains,
Deriding every call of duty,

They strolled along the world's drear plains.
• Turn, ye wanderers-List to REASON!
Sad-you will be happy then;
You have walked in wo a season,
Stinging all the breasts of men.

• REASON, OF RELIGION, calls you,
Let your wayward wanderings cease;
Then whatever ill befalls you,

All your influence will be peace.

• HOPE and FEAR and ANGER yonder
Cannot pass, but here must die;
But Love and Joy entwined will wander
O'er the bright fields of the sky.

So the MORTAL PASSIONS ever
Will inspirit man below,

And the DEATHLESS PASSIONS never

Cease in heavenly souls to glow.' p. 8–11.

We must make room for one more extract, which will amply justify Mr. Edmeston's claim to true poetic feeling: the lines are simple and touching.

TO THE MEMORY OF A SISTER.

Fair prison of earth's fairest clay,

Thy chains are burst, thy bars are broken,
And I, with mingled grief, survey
Each silent mark, each icy token,

Thy cheek is fixed, thy brow is barc,
Thy lips are pale, thine eye is faded;

Yet never seemed that face so fair,

Though bowered in locks that fancy braided.

A smile more sweet, a grace more tender.
And while upon thy face I gaze,

Where once the flash of pleasure lightned,
My memory turns to other days,

And pictures hours that thou hast brightened.
'Perchance, the smile I loved to trace

May give one day a better greeting,
And beam upon thy brother's face
A welcome to a deathless meeting.
And thou, sweet Spirit! now set free,
Afar from all that love encumbers,
I must, must weep-yet envy thee.
Thy place among the ransomed numbers.
'I loved thee-yes, bear witness here.
Thou heart, that felt how hard to sever;
I love thee still, in death more dear,
Parted awhile, but not for ever!
Thy grief, thy bitterness, is o'er,
Pardoned thy sin, and healed thy sorrow,
And not one cloud shall hover more
Across thine everlasting morrow!
Then far be grief-I will not mourn;
Why should I view thy gain with sadness?
I felt a pang when thou wast torn,

But love hath melted it to gladness!' pp. 6-8.

The Scripture Melodies were written, not with any distinct view to publication, but rather to relieve the solitude to which an in'firm state of health had condemned' the Author. I know not,' he says, to what species of poetical composition a clergyman could with more propriety devote his leisure." That Mr. Jones's leisure hours have been both beneficially and honourably improved, our readers will, we think, readily admit on perusing the specimens we shall proceed to transcribe from this simple and unpretending volume.

But whence the anguish of that hour?
And why his heavenly face o'er-cast?
That sorrow sprang from friendship's power;
But soon this earthly feeling past.
The Father rises all supreme,

And human passions sink to rest:
His eyes, now tearless, brightly beam,
And all the Godhead swells his breast.

6 With voice that shook the arch of heaven,
"Come forth, O Lazarus," he said:
At once the bands of death are riven,
The yawning tomb resigns its dead.
• Transfix'd with wonder and amazė,
Inspir'd with awe ne'er felt before,
The Jews upon the Saviour gaze,

And even malice owns his power.' pp. 16-18.
"TIS FINISH'D."

"Tis finish'd!"-the Holy sufferer cried,
And he bow'd his sacred head, and died!
Nature-it heard the dying tones,

And, obedient still, its Master owns.

The sun-he refuses his glowing light,

And the Heavens are veil'd in dunnest night;
The rocks are all asunder riven,

And, opening widely, yawn to Heaven.

And the earth is mov'd, convulsed with dread,
And the graves give up their buried dead,
And the saints, which long had slumber'd here,
Did in the Holy City appear.

The veil of the temple is rent in twain,
Shewing that types were now in vain :
Hell's monarch-he heard the Saviour's groan,
And he trembled for his guilty throne.

But what was "finish'd?" The wond'rous plan
Which brought redemption for erring man;
All that the prophets and seers of old,
Of Christ, the Messiah, had oft foretold.
'Twas he who thus died, and all was o'er,
For Jewish rites could avail no more:

But who the Messiah? who cried "'tis donè,”
The Godhead incarnate in the Son.' PP. 28-30.

The greater part of the Notes might have been spared: the Melodies stand in no need of such a commentary, and some of the Author's remarks are of that very obvious kind which are termed truisms. The reader will regret that the space allotted to them, was not occupied with additions to the Melodies.

Nearly half of Mr. Hodgson's volume is occupied with two narrative poems, founded on the Biblical subjects of Cain and Abel, and Jonah. The former is in part freely imitated from Gesner's pastoral; so well known as done into English' for the benefit of young persons, by Mrs. Collier. It is in better taste, is less attenuated than the German romance, and is agreeably versified; but, having said thus much, we have little to add in its favour. The incidents are, of all Scriptural subjects, the least susceptible, perhaps, of poetical paraphrase, owing not more to their remote antiquity, than to the extreme conciseness of the inspired record, and the unbounded scope it affords for vague and unauthorised conjecture. Montgomery, in his World before the Flood, has more than rivalled Gesner: his poem serves to shew at once all the capabilities and the incurable disadvantages of the subject. He has not ventured to refer to the story of the death of Abel otherwise than in a brief episode, in which he adheres closely to the Scripture narrative. His conception of the character of Cain, however, amply atones for its boldness by its moral propriety.

Mr. Hodgson has been much more successful, we think, in his treatment of his other subject, on which two Cambridge prize poems have already been submitted to the public. The relation of the story is put into the mouth of a Christian of the fourth century, who is supposed to address it to his son. loses nothing in point of effect from adhering with fidelity to the simple statements of the sacred historian.

'buried living
In that prepared Leviathan, he rests
In safety terrible.

**

*

But whence is man precluded to pour forth
His Maker's praise, his own repenting love?

What void in space may not be filled with Prayer?
The viewless winds may with thanksgivings teem,

Flame, earth, and sea, all ministers of Prayer,
And pervious to unconquerable faith,
As ether's plains to penetrating light.
Undaunted Daniel from the roaring den
Of hungry lions: from the tyrant's fires,
Breathing hot death upon his murderous slaves,
The holy captives: the whole choir of Heaven
Through the pure fields of air, accordant join
In one harmonious symphony of Prayer.,
Hail, sorrow's only balm, angelic Prayer!,
Whatever thorns our mortal path beset,
Whatever flowers from this brief garden fall
Of human bliss-and oh! too soon they fall,
Most fair, most sweet, the soonest-heavenly Prayer!

It

Thou bind'st the broken heart, thou bidd'st it hope
For flowers unfading in thy native realm.'"

Lo! from his wonderous prison, Jonah pours
Heart-stricken homage- Oh, my guard, my God!
Even from the grave I called, and thou hast heard.
Plunged to the pale foundations of the main,
And wandering o'er the world of death below,
The weeds of ocean wrapped me close about,
The waters roared above me-all was dark,
And thou thyself wert hid-yet there, e'en there,
When now I prest Earth's adamantine bars,
And seemed for ever rooted to her base,
I sought thy holy temple, not in vain.
Yes, to the shrine of Mercy rose my prayer,
When thy remembrance cheered my fainting soul,
And from Corruption's bosom brought my life.
Oh, how yon impious earth forsakes itself,
And wrongs thy purer love! but I will pay
My thankful sacrifice, my stedfast vow,
To thee alone-salvation is the Lord's!

Sure was the Prophet's trust-behold him laid,
At once delivered from the jaws of hell,
Prone on the rocky shore-portentous type
Of Thee, thou pardoning Saviour! who, like him
The atoning Hebrew (but for others guilt,
Not for thine own, blest Jesus! not thine own,
Thou only Innocence beheld by Man!)
Didst pass the grave's dread portal, and descend
Into the depths of Nature's dark.repose,
Till the third dawn to thankless man returned.
Well might those hours innoxious end, for how
Should thy blest soul be left in Hell, or how
The Holy One of Heaven endure corruption !"

Among the shorter pieces, there is a series of very pleasing poems on the leading incidents of our Lord's history. Mr. Hodgson has most laudably abstained from tricking out his subject in the meretricious graces of sentiment; he has not even sought to give effect to his verse by a variety of measure, or any of those rhythmical novelties which have of late been employed in what purports to be sacred poetry. In this he has shewn some courage and more good taste. There is a prevailing chasteness in the style both of thought and of expression, which well accords with the theme; and while he rarely fails of being terse and pointed, he not unfrequently attains a simplicity that partakes of majesty. The following specimens will, we think, justify our commendation.