[In the following anonymous review, the critic finds Dyer's poetry more noteworthy than his political sentiments.]

In p. 590, of our seventeenth volume, the reader will find an account of a first book of Poems by this author, of which these were to have been a continuation, and consecrated Divæ Libertati! Mr. Dyer has been induced, partly by the advice of friends, and partly by the hints of booksellers, who, as he truly says, are the best judges in these matters, to alter the arrangement of his plan. We are now presented with two volumes of Lyric Poetry, on miscellaneous subjects, in which however the poet's favourite goddess is not neglected; these are introduced by a long “Prefatory Essay on Lyric Poetry,” in which are many pleasing sentiments and judicious observations. Mr. Dyer's pursuits and talents must indeed be various; for we find him at one time composing Sonnets, and Translations from Anacreon, and at another books of Biography, and tracts on Juries. We are however strongly inclined to suppose, that the character in which he will appear most acceptable and interesting is that of a Poet.

These compositions are distinguished by the usual character of the author's pen; they never rise to any extraordinary vigour, have none of the ardentia verba, but a considerable share of taste, harmony, and feeling. The following is an agreeable specimen.

“TO THE CAM.”

          Soon shall the young ambrosial spring
          Wanton forth, in garlands gay,
          And, spreading soft her virgin wing,
          Shall wed the Lord of Day.
          Soon shall reviving Nature homage yield,
          And, breathing incense, lead her tuneful train
          O'er hill and dale, soft vale, and cultur'd field;
          The bard, the lover, and the jocund swain,
Their new-born joys shall sing; earth, sea, and sky,
All wake for thee, fair Spring, their sweetest minstrelsy.

2.

          What though the winds, and sleety shower,
          May seem awhile to hush the grove?
          Soon, wak'd by Nature's living power,
          Shall breathe the voice of love!
          The lark gay mount, to hail the purple dawn,
          And its clear matin carol thro' the sky,
          The throstle's mellow warblings cheer the morn,
          The linnet softly trill on hawthorn nigh;
The mists shall vanish soon, and soon the breeze
Kiss every glowing flower, and fan the trembling trees.

3.

          I, too, the cheering warmth shall feel,
          And join the rapturous choral song,
          Musing smooth numbers, as I steal,
          O Cam! thy banks along.
          Tho' near thy banks no myrtle breathe perfume,
          No rose unfold its blushing beauties near,
          Tho' here no stately tulip spread its bloom,
          Nor towering lily deck the gay parterre:
(Inclos'd within the garden's fair domain,
These all, in eastern pride, shall hold their golden reign:)

4.

          Yet wild flowers o'er the fruitful scene,
          Warm'd by the touch of gentle May,
          Shall rise, obedient to their queen,
          In simple beauty gay.
          To me the violet sheds the richest sweet,
          To me the king-cup shines with brightest hues;
          The primrose pale, like modest virtue neat,
          E'en the meek daisy, can instruct the Muse;
Roving with silent eyes, she loves to stand,
And in the field-flow'r views a more than master's hand.

5.

          E'en now the sun-beam, dazzling bright,
          Quick dances on the crisped stream;
          And soft, tho' fleeting gales invite
          The fond poetic dream.
          Nor does in vain the swan majestic sail,
          Nor glittering insect range the rushy brink;
          Nor the fish sporting down the current steal,
          And the light songsters on the margin drink;
Then, wild with bliss, shiver the painted wing,
And to their feather'd loves their sweetest wood-notes sing.

6.

          Yet must we leave thy blooming reign:—
          And short that reign, thou lovely Spring—
          What time Fate's high decrees ordain,
          Or wills the soveregn King!
          Yes, all thy shadowy clouds, thy rainbow hues,
          Thy flowers, and songs, thy gales, and glossy bloom,
          All must be left, tho' friendly to the Muse;
          And man, poor man, lie down in cheerless gloom;
That season cold of death shall chill his tongue,
Nor beauty's smile return, that wak'd the vernal song.

7.

          But speed the hours on restless wing?
          Must love's light season flit away?
          Then hail, O man, the coming spring,
          And seize the sweets of May;
          Where now the bard of Camus' classic stream,
          The skilful hand that wak'd th' Æolian lyre?
          Ah! sleeps with him the spring enamour'd theme;
          From him the loves, and “Venus' train” retire,—
He too, who trac'd the crystal streams of light,
And Nature's spacious fields, great Newton, sleeps in night.

8.

          No more he treads this hallow'd ground,
          Nor tracks in thought yon boundless sky;
          Ah! Science can but gaze around,
          Then like the Muse, shall die.
          Oh! quit then, Fancy, queen of songs and wiles,
          The pearl-enamell'd grot, the moss-grown cell,
          Thy many thousand hills, and purple isles,
          And deign, oh! deign, near sedgy Cam to dwell;
Still let the song of love the valleys cheer,
And blooming Science spread fair spring-time all the year.

At p. 55, of Vol. I. is an “Essay on Elegiac Poetry,” in which Mr. Dyer discusses the speculative question, whether blank verse is as capable of expressing sublime and tender sorrow as the most harmonious rhyme. He thinks it is; we think it unnecessary to decide such a question. Sublime and excellent examples may be produced in both forms; and a poetical mind, strongly impressed, may perform wonders in either way.

The second volume is, like the first, divided into two books, and, like that also, contains a mixture of prose and verse. It begins with an Essay on representative Poetry, in which there is much to please, and but little that is objectionable. The first Poem which succeeds this Essay is very poetical.

“THE LOVE POET.”

Oh! Love, fair Nature's child, undeck'd by art,
Whom should I call, but thee, in every clime,
          The poet's mighty God?
Harmonious power! To whom all beings raise
          Gay songs, and gratulations meet,
For thine it is thro air, earth, sea to range,
          Wing'd with desire, and warm with life;
Thine the perennial fires, that renovate the world!
Have I not on thy altars duly pour'd
The pure libation, following it with sighs,
          And resignation meet?
To thee have I not paid, at morn and eve,
          The pray'r too big for words, a priest,
That greatly felt, and silently ador'd?
          Oh! then thy vot'ry's trembling heart
Touch with the living coals, that on thine altar burn.
But spare, oh! spare me now: assume no more
The form terrific, fire-red eyes and darts,
          Thy darts of living steel;
Nor bring with thee thy train of thousand ills,
          The sleepless night, the day of care,
Follies and wanderings, griefs, and fears, and smarts,
          Pale melancholy, pining shame,
That lead the vagrant heart to lab'rinths of despair.
Be but my Muse, what other shall I need?
Give me but that sweet music of the soul,
          Can I then want a lyre?
Oh! tune my heart-strings;—so the passions all
          Shall to my song sing jubilant:
So shall the seasons, in alternate dance,
          Pass smiling by, each herb, fruit, flow'r,
Be redolent of sweets, and every gale inspire!
True to thy name, now wear thy loveliest form
Dimples and smiles, and pity-beaming eyes,
          And soul-enliven'd mirths:
And bring the flower of bliss without the thorn,
          Delights that last, and cares that please,
With meek benevolence, but taught by thee;
          So from my heart, by thee attun'd,
Sweet melodies shall rise, and dignify my song.

At p. 83, vol. ii. will be found “Cursory Remarks on Readers, and the Nature of Poetry; on Dreams and Visions.” This Essay places the writer in a new point of view, and shows him to possess talents for humour. Some Poetical Dreams succeed, which exhibit much power of fancy. “The Padlocked Lady” has many charming stanzas; but the catastrophe is ridiculous and false; intimating that, in this country, Liberty has a Padlock on her lips. Mr. Dyer himself has more than once exhibited a memorable example, how much may be said and written in this nation without reprehension or restraint. It is much to be lamented, that more of these whiners about Liberty, do not go and make their experiments in those happier lands, which are the subjects of their praise and envy. The punishment of those who have done so, has usually been exemplary.

We have, however, on the whole, no scruple in declaring, that these two volumes have afforded us more entertainment than any of Mr. Dyer's preceding publications, either in verse or prose.