Poetry may be said to delight in fiction: creation, as the word implies, is its chief object. Soaring on the wings of fancy and imagination, new worlds and new beings present themselves to the poet’s phrensied view. To the realities he adds all the possibilities of existence, and, unsatisfied pedestribus historiis, with plain narrations, in which only human actors and human exploits are exhibited, he enriches his scene and interests the reader by the introduction of preternatural beings. Homer could not sing the contentions between the Grecian and Dardan hosts, at the siege of Troy, without elevating his subject by associating divinities with heroes, and forcing the gods themselves to bear a part in the mighty conflict. He employed the popular superstitions of his age to impart a grandeur and solemnity to his theme, selecting from the mythology which then prevailed the machinery of his immortal Iliad.
The divinities of Greece having been transported to, and
worshipped at, Rome, the Latin epic poets were forced to adopt the
machinery, as well as to follow the plans, of Homer—they had little left except to be servile copyists of
this great original: but when the Muses began to be courted by our northern
ancestors, poetry was obliged to have recourse for its machinery to new
superstitions, and to substitute Gothic demons for
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We have been led to make this observation, not from what is found in the work before us, but
from the circumstance of no effort having been made to enrich its pages
from these sources. Its claim to public approbation rests not on the
exploits of the heroes of antiquity; it is derived from the exertions of
those who have figured in modern times. Saying this,
however, we do not wish to be understood to assert that its pages are
occupied with the frivolous occurrences of modern life, or with the insipid
anecdotes of fashionable folly, which have of late swelled almost every new
publication. If, however, it has not those deeds of “high
emprize,” of which the lovers of romance are so much enamoured, sung
in never-dying strains, and if it cannot boast of that fashionable
chit-chat which is so ardently admired by the readers of modern novels, on
the other hand it avoids that disgusting bombast which frequently attends
an attempt to celebrate the former, and that atrocious slander which is too
generally the characteristic of the latter. If it is to be censured as
wanting that animating fire and fascinating vivacity usually sought for in
works of that description to which we have alluded, it possesses nothing
that can be regarded as insulting
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This work is understood to be compiled by Mr. Hoffman, a gentleman well known in the literary world, and who has been for some time regarded, if not as a rising, at least as a stationary genius. The present is, certainly, not his greatest work; but we are happy to say, that comparing it with his former productions of the same cast, we cannot discover that there is any falling off.
While we bear testimony to the merits of this work, as in no way offending against the purest morality, we cannot but admit that there are parts which, in our opinion, would admit of considerable improvement. It, however, affords us no small satisfaction to find that one work, at least, has been produced in the present day, in which, besides being recommended by the circumstance of its being not only free from nonsense and immorality, but wholly exempt from those errors of style which too frequently disfigure works of merit, from the beginning to the end we have not been able to discover one fault in grammar, or even in punctuation. Its pages are not sullied by one improper, nor even by one inelegant, expression. We cannot say that it is recommended to us by all the fire of Walter Scott; but if it has not the beauties of his style, it is happily free from its defects, and much as we may regret the want of its harmony, we are in a very considerable degree consoled by the absence of its affectation.
We cannot conclude without observing, that this work is
in an eminent degree entitled to the praise of consistency, and this of
itself is no common merit. No statements are made at the end, which are at
variance with anything contained in the early part of the book. Nothing is
advanced to influence the thoughtless, or to mislead the ignorant. In no
part are we disgusted with an assumption of importance, or of superior
information, which is not warranted by facts. It is never attempted to
baffle the understanding by an affectation of mystery. We are never
perplexed by a series of asterisks, dashes, or initial and final letters,
significantly marked in italics. Its contents are in no part unintelligible
or even doubtful; but the work is in every part fair,
clear, and perfectly plain. With such
claims to
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