Lo! where it comes like an eternity,
As if to sweep down all things in its track,
Charming the eye with dread,—a matchless cataract,
" Horribly beautiful! but on the verge,
From side to side, beneath the glittering morn,
An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge,
Like Hope upon a deathbed, and unworn
Its steady dyes, while all around is torn
By the distracted waters, bears serene
Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn:
Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene,
Love watching Madness with unalterable mien."
The two similitudes to which I object in this description are, first, the iris or rainbow, which is represented as sitting amidst the infernal surges like Hope upon a deathbed. Let us consider this resemblance. There is certainly no fault to be found with it on the score of its morality; it is calculated to be solemn and impressive. But it appears to me to be incongruous and out of place. There is no analogy or similitude between the scene here presented to our imagination and the picture of hope upon a deathbed. The agitation of these distracted waters is the agitation of overpowering life, and not the trouble of death either still or convulsed. Hope upon a deathbed is no doubt a radiant crown, whether it encircles the dying brows of him whose last hour has struck, or the foreheads of his weeping friends; but that is a peaceful though a mournful scene, it is a picture bearing no resemblance to this frenzied flood; or if it be not a peaceful scene, if the passions of anguish, like those tumultuous waters, boil up around this bed
