his heroic children to the sword of the Saracens, but with them he deprives the Papal chair in Europe of its strongest supports. The noble dreams of new acquisitions, and of gaining new Crowns, and his dutiful spirit brings him back to the feet of his prince. The pious pilgrim to the holy sepulchre seeks pardon for sin, and the joys of paradise, and to him alone more is given than had been promised. In Asia he regains his manhood, and with it, he brings back from that continent the seeds of Freedom to his European brethren, an infinitely more important acquisition than the keys of Jerusalem, or the nails from the cross of the Redeemer. W. S. ART. III.-ON SOME OF THE CHARACTERISTICS OF SHELLEY. SHELLEY'S mind was one of the most extraordinary which appeared above our literary horizon at a time when we were remarkably rich in the number of our gifted men, both in the high pitch and in the diversity of their powers. Whilst most of these have had assigned to them their appropriate place in the temple of literature, Shelley's still remains uncertain, hovering between the unattainable heights of perfection which his greatest admirers claim for him, and the low and misty regions of wildness, error, mysticism, unmeaningness, down even to the vacuity of nonsense, to which his depreciators, or those who cannot comprehend his character, would degrade him. It is only within the last few years that his writings have been studied with any view towards discovering in what estimation they are to be held as works of literature, or obtaining a clear insight into his character, in its moral and poetical capacities; and though he has often been reviewed, and much said about him, there has not yet been any attempt made towards obtaining a full exposition of his character, nor has that degree of study and diligent examination ever been given which is necessary to the due estimation of such a mind as his. It is true that we find much exaggerated praise given him, much extolling to the skies, without that exact appreciation, which as it is more difficult to adjust, and more demonstrative therefore of a due sense of the worth of that to which it is given, is far more flattering. Such vague admiration is injurious when applied to men of real genius, as it delays that diligent examination into their merits which is often much required. Every one on first reading Shelley must be struck with his wonderful luxuriance of imagery, his vast flow of ideas and of language, and the beauty of expression with which he clothes every delineation of natural or spiritual qualities. He differs from most other poets not merely in the nature but the use of his imagery. He seldom employs it merely as a means of illustration. It seems to be the natural path of his mind to describe by allegory, and whilst other writers employ their talents for metaphor as a means of explaining and enforcing their subject, he seems to take his subject as an apology for inundating the minds of his readers with a profusion of beautiful images. This, it has been truly said, is one of the causes of that difficulty of comprehension which is often complained of in his writings. He heaps image upon image, each rivalling its predecessor in beauty, till the mind, dazzled by their rapid succession, and wearied with the effort which is required for holding one idea through a series of illustrations, longs to return to reality, before he deigns to descend from his ideal station. Sometimes, having once stretched his wings in the etherial region, in which he seems to move with peculiar freedom, he breaks off abruptly, leaving his subject unfinished, as in the poem of the Woodman and the Nightingale; sometimes he returns merely to take a glance at his subject sufficient to afford him materials for another aerial flight. He has another habit, too, instead of adhering strictly to those qualities which bear an analogy to the subject, of obscuring this by the introduction of inappropriate qualities. Hence arises a clumsiness, destructive of symmetry, and we consequently find in Shelley a want of that harmonious proportion necessary to the perfection of art. We are struck by a sense of incongruity, similar to what we should feel in seeing a statue, in which the drapery had more attention bestowed upon it, and was more highly finished, than the figure itself. Not but that Shelley can, and often does, describe reality most beautifully, and with a grace peculiar to himself. The "Sensitive Plant" forms a beautiful specimen of the manner in which a poet whose sense of beauty is as keen as it is delicate, detects those minute and unobtrusive beauties of Nature which lie everywhere around us, but which are overlooked by all except those who are constantly attracted to their search. From a garden of flowers, a stream and its wooded banks, he creates a world of new and beautiful ideas. He gives new beauty to what was beautiful before, by endowing it with a spiritual nature, and characterizes each flower by the mental quality of which it is the symbol, the peculiar deity of which it is the shrine. "The Naiad-like lily of the vale, Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale :" Like a Mænad, its moon-light-coloured cup." Lastly, the sensitive plant itself, the emblem of those refined and tender spirits which we meet with sometimes, which shrink into themselves at the touch of uncongeniality, and only expand to those who can give them understanding and sympathy, which depend for their happiness on the affection of those around them, but from their humility are distrustful of what they can give in return, and consequently hang back, and are passed by unnoticed: "For the sensitive plant has no bright flower ; It loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full, The spiritual charm with which Shelley invests material objects, like a veil softening without concealing their beauties, is his most striking characteristic. Speaking of it, Mrs. Shelley says, "More popular poets clothe the ideal with familiar and sensible imagery. Shelley loved to idealize the real, to gift the mechanism of the material universe with a soul and a voice, and to bestow such also on the most delicate and abstract emotions and thoughts of the mind." The original and simplest mode of metaphor is certainly that which is used to express by material signs, the evanescent movements of the mind and feelings. Imagery arose from the poverty of utterance and the necessity of embodying in sensible ideas what words, being arbitrary signs, and bearing no real relation to what they signify, would, until by long use they had become intimately associated with their ideas, but feebly express. Man's life in its early stages was one of action and passion, not of thought and sentiment. The movements of his mind were not yet familiar to him; he was absorbed by them, and could only find vent to them by clothing them with the forms of matter. But as we advance in refinement, and become more acquainted with the intricacies of our internal feelings, a more refined and subtle style of imagery arises, the converse of the former one, and endows the material world with spiritual attributes. There is one peculiarity of Shelley found almost* in him alone, and arising from the highly-refined nature of his metaphorical allusions. This is his manner of making the effect of one sense stand as the image of another. For instance, he speaks of the hyacinths flinging from their bells a sweet peal "Of music so delicate, soft, and intense, * We only recollect another instance : "The mind, the music breathing from her face." Byron. And in the Triumph of Life : "In that star's smile, whose light is like the scent Shelley's poetry is highly intellectual. Let the subject be what it may, sublime, pathetic, descriptive of natural scenery, wandering amongst ideal and allegorical forms, or finding its home in the simple realities of life, it never loses its predominating intellectuality. He compares things by their remote relations, seldom by their more obvious; his ideas flow in a recondite manner, and this tends to give his writings an appearance of mannerism. It is however evidently the natural current of his thoughts, but being different from that of ordinary minds, they feel as if their thoughts were unnaturally forced, and style his manner artificial. It was not in his nature to be anything but genuine, and he was far above that pettiness of aim which disdains to follow its natural trains of thought, in order to strike out something which may appear original.-Shelley was too rich for this; it is the poor, and those who fear the reputation of imitators, who seek a forced originality. Even in those slighter poems which were the offspring of his immediate feeling, cast off at the moment, and perhaps never intended for any eye but his own, we still find Intellect preserving her sway, and rendering his feelings subservient to his ideas. We have an example in the Stanzas written in Dejection at Naples, where he contrasts so finely the tranquil splendour of the noon-tide scene with the feelings of weariness and despondency arising from a frame worn by suffering, and the sense of weakness and incapability attending it. The natural expression of his feelings, even here, is drawn from the depths of his mind. STANZAS, Written in Dejection near Naples. "The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, |