Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 001.djvu/500

less cruelty, insatiable licentiousness, and blaspheming atheism, stands more prominently forward from the canvass, when placed beside that of self-neglecting heroism, forgiving generosity, pure love, and lofty devotion.

But if the wild tale of the Veiled Prophet possessed the imagination of our readers, and awoke all their shuddering sympathies, they will not easily forget the mild and gentle beauties of "Paradise and the Peri," and will turn to it, from the perusal of the other, with such feelings of placid delight as when the soul reposes on the sunny slope of a pastoral hill, after its descent from the grim cliffs of a volcanic mountain. Never was a purer and more dazzling light shed over the dying countenance of, a self-devoted patriot, than over that hero whose heart's blood the Peri carries to Paradise. There is no needless description—no pouring cut of vague and general emotions—none of the common-places of patriotism; but the story of the fallen Hero tells itself. The situation is all in all; his last sighs are breathed beneath the over-shadowing wings of a celestial creature, sympathizing in her own fall with the sorrows of humanity; and lying thus by the blood-stained waters of his native river, with the red blade broken in his hand, what more beautiful and august picture can be conceived of unconquerable Virtue? The second picture, of the Lovers dying of the Plague, is not less exquisite. The soul is at once filled with that fear and horror which the visitation strikes through its vital blood; while, at the same time, the loveliness, the stillness, the serenity of the scene in which Death is busy, chaining the waves of passion into a calm,—do most beautifully coalesce with the pure love and perfect resignation of the youthful victims, till the heart is left as happy in the contemplation of their quiet decease, as if Love had bound them to life and enjoyment. Yet the concluding picture of the sinless Child and the repentant Ruffian is perhaps still more true to poetry and to nature. Never did genius so beautify religion; never did an uninspired pen so illustrate the divine sentiment of a divine Teacher. What a dark and frightful chasm is heard to growl between the smiling sleep of the blessed Infant and the wakeful remorse of the despairing Murderer! By what bridge shall the miserable wretch walk over to that calm and dreamlike land where his own infancy played? For, red though be his hands and his soul, he was once like that spotless Child. The poet feels—deeply feels that sentiment of our Christian Religion, which alone would prove its origin to have been divine; and representing repentance as the only operation of spirit by which our human nature can be restored from the lowest depth of perdition to its first state of comparative innocence, he supposes its first-shed tears not only to save the soul of the weeper, but, by a high and mysterious agency, to open the gates of Paradise to the Peri, as if the sacred shower alike restored, refreshed, and beautified, mortal and immortal Beings.

We feel that our remembrances have carried us away from our present main object. Yet we hope for indulgence. Poetry is not framed for the amusement of a passing hour. The feelings it excites are lodged in the depths of every meditative soul, and when it is considered what undue influence the low-born cares and paltry pursuits of ordinary existence seem, by a kind of mournful necessity, to exert over the very best natures, it can never be a vain or useless occupation, to recall before us those pure and lofty visions which are created by the capacities rather than the practices of the spirit within us, and with which our very sympathy proves the grandeur and magnificence of our destiny.

The ground-work of the "Fire Worshippers," is the last and fatal struggle of the Ghebers, or Persians of the old religion, with their Arab conquerors. With the interest of this contest, there is combined (as is usual in all such cases) that of a love story; and though we confess ourselves hostile in general to this blending of individual with general feelings, as destructive of the paramount importance of the one, and the undivided intensity of the other; yet, in this instance, great skill is shewn in the combination of the principal and subordinate adventures, and if there be an error of judgment in such a plan, it is amply atoned for by the vigour and energy of the execution. The scene is laid on the Persian side of the gulph which separates that country from Arabia, and is sometimes known by the name of Oman's Sea. The Fire Wor-