Aught that could rouse, expand, refine the soul,
Thither he went, and meditated there.

He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced. As some vast river of unfailing source,

Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed,
And opened new fountains in the human heart.
Where fancy halted, weary in her flight

In other men, his fresh as morning rose,

And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at home,
Where angels bashful looked. Others, tho' great,
Beneath their argument seemed struggling whiles;
He from above descending, stooped to touch
The loftiest thought; and proudly stooped, as tho'
It scarce deserved his verse. With Nature's self
He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest
At will with all her glorious majesty.

He laid his hand upon "the Ocean's mane,'
And played familiar with his hoary locks.
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Appenines,
And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend;
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing,
In sportive twist-the lightning's fiery wing,
Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God,
Marching upon the storm in vengeance seemed
Then turned, and with the grasshopper, who sung
His evening song, beneath his feet, conversed.
Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds his sisters were;
Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms,
His brothers-younger brothers, whom he scarce
As equals deemed. All passions of all men—
The wild and tame-the gentle and severe;
All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane;
All creeds, all seasons, Time, Eternity;
All that was hated, and all that was dear;
All that was hoped, all that was feared by man,
He tossed about, as tempest-withered leaves,
Then smiling looked upon the wreck he made.
With terror now he froze the cowering blood;
And now dissolved the heart in tenderness:
Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself.
But back into his soul retired, alone,
Dark, sullen, proud: gazing contemptuously
On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet.
So Ocean from the plains, his waves had late
To desolation swept, retired in pride,
Exulting in the glory of his might,

And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought.

As some fierce comet of tremendous size, To which the stars did reverence, as it passed;

So he through learning, and through fancy took

His flight sublime; and on the loftiest top

Of Fame's dread mountain sat: not soiled and worn,
As if he from the earth had laboured up,

But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair,

He looked, which down from higher regions came,
And perched it there, to see what lay beneath.

The nations gazed, and wondered much, and praised.
Critics before him fell in humble plight;

Confounded fell; and made debasing signs

To catch his eye; and stretched, and swelled themselves
To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words

Of admiration vast: and many too,

Many that aimed to imitate his flight,

With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made,

And gave

abundant sport to after days.

Great man! the nations gazed, and wondered much,
And praised and many called his evil good.

Wits wrote in favour of his wickedness;
And kings to do him honor took delight.
Thus full of titles, flattery, honor, fame;
Beyond desire, beyond ambition full,—

He died-he died of what? Of wretchedness.
Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump

Of fame; drank early, deeply drank; drank draughts
That common millious might have quenched-then died

Of thirst, because there was no more to drink.

His goddess, Nature, wooed, embraced, enjoyed,

Fell from his arms, abhorred; his passions died;
Died all but dreary, solitary pride:

And all his sympathies in being died.

As some ill-guided bark, well built and tall,
Which angry tides cast out on desert shore,

And then retiring, left it there to rot

And moulder in the winds and rains of heaven;

So he, cut from the sympathies of life,

And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surge

A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing;
Scorched, and desolate, and blasted soul;

A gloomy wilderness of dying thought

Repined, and groaned, and withered from the earth.
His groanings filled the land, his numbers filled:
And yet he seemed ashamed to groan.
Ashamed to ask, and yet he needed help."-Book IV. pp. 84-87.

Poor man!

The first image of the following passage appears to us as original as it is gorgeous and brilliant. It is worthy of Shakspeare-approaching, like some of his, the very border of ex

travagance, but still not passing it, and dazzling the curious eye of criticism that would scan its propriety too strictly.

"And there were too-harp! lift thy voice on high,
And run in rapid numbers o'er the face

Of Nature's scenery-and there were day
And night; and rising suns, and setting suns;
And clouds, that seemed like chariots of saints,
By fiery coursers drawn-as brightly hued,
As if the glorious, bushy, golden locks
Of thousand cherubim, had been shorn off,
And on the temples hung of morn and even.

And there were moons, and stars, and darkness streaked
With light; and voice of tempest heard secure.
And there were seasons coming evermore,
And going still, all fair, and always new,

With bloom, and fruit, and fields of hoary grain.
And there were hills of flock, and groves of song;
And flowery streams, and garden walks embowered,
Where side by side the rose and lily bloomed.
And sacred founts, wild harps, and moonlight glens;
And forests vast, fair lawns, and lonely oaks;
And little willows sipping at the brook :
Old wizard haunts, and dancing seats of mirth ;
Gay festive bowers, and palaces in dust;

Dark owlet nooks, and caves, and battled rocks:
And winding vallies, roofed with pendant shade;
And tall, and perilous cliffs, that overlooked

The breadth of ocean, sleeping on his waves."-Book V. pp.99-100. We select at random the only other extract which our limits admit of, for the purpose of exemplifying that extraordinary vigour of style for which Mr. Pollok is remarkable, and to which he never scruples to sacrifice mere elegance and a finical delicacy. Many readers may find some of his descriptions revolting and disgustful, merely from their severe accuracy-but the poet's maxim seems to be "rien n'est beau que le vrai”—and this homely strength of expression and painful minuteness of delineation in painting objects that can be properly described in no other way, is, in our opinion, an excellence of no mean order. It is one for which Spenser is eminently distinguished.

"Of comely form she was, and fair of face;
And underneath her eyelids sat a kind
Of witching sorcery that nearer drew
Whoever with unguarded look beheld;
A dress of gaudy hue loosely attired
Her loveliness: her air and manner frank,
And seeming free of all disguise; her song
Enchanting; and her words which sweetly dropt

As honey from the comb, most large of promise,
Still prophesying days of new delight,
And rapturous nights of undecaying joy.
And in her hand, where'er she went, she held
A radiant cup that seemed of nectar full-
And by her side danced fair delusive Hope.
The fool pursued enamoured, and the wise
Experienced man who reasoned much, and thought,
Was sometimes seen laying his wisdom down,
And vying with the stripling in the chase.

Nor wonder thou! for she was really fair;
Decked to the very taste of flesh and blood.
And many thought her sound within; and gay
And healthy at the heart: but thought amiss:
For she was full of disease; her bones

Were rotten consumption licked her blood, and drank
Her marrow up; her breath smelled mortally;
And in her bowels plague and fever lurked;
And in her very heart, and reins and life,
Corruption's worm gnawed greedily unseen.

Many her haunts, they might'st have seen her now
With Indolence, lolling on the mid-day couch,
And whispering drowsy words; and now at dawn,
Loudly and rough, joining the sylvan horn;
Or sauntering in the park, and to the tale
Of slander giving ear; or sitting fierce,
Rude, blasphemous, malicious, raving, mad,
Where fortune to the fickle die was bound.

But chief she loved the scene of deep debauch,
Where revelry, and dance, and frantic song,
Disturbed the sleep of honest men. And where
The drunkard sat, she entered in, well pleased,
With eye brimful of wanton mirthfulness,
And urged him still to fill another cup.

And at the shadowy twilight-in the dark And gloomy night, I looked, and saw her come," &c. [Book III. pp. 46-47.

Upon the whole, we regard this volume as an accession to English literature, and as destined to attain to permanent celebrity and reputation, not, perhaps, among men of the world, but throughout the great community of Christian readers, and all whose minds have been brought by the disappointments of life, to deep and solemn reflection upon its emptiness and illusions. It ought not to be forgotten too, that it was the first elaborate production of a young man, who had come late to his

studies, and whose taste might have been expected to improve much by subsequent discipline. Had he recovered his health under the glowing sky of Italy, what might not have been expected of his ripened genius ten years hence?

We might have dwelt upon his faults-some peculiarities might even have been ridiculed with success, but we bad no disposition to do so after a candid and attentive perusal of the whole work.

ART. VII.-1. Message from the President of the United States, transmitting the information in relation to expenditures incident or relating to Internal Improvements, for the years 1824–1825. (April 3, 1826.) Washington. 1826.

2. Letter from the Secretary of War, transmitting information respecting the surveys of Roads and Canals, and of their relative importance. (February 19, 1827.) Washington. 1827. 3. Documents accompanying the President's Message to Congress at the commencement of the first Session of the Twentieth Congress. (December 4, 1827.) Washington. 1827.

4. Letter from the Secretary of War, transmitting the information and in relation to the amount deemed necessary in the execution and completion of each work of Internal Improvement specified in the Report made on the 4th of March, 1828. (April 29, 1828.) Washington. 1828.

5. Speech of the Hon. William Smith, of South-Carolina, in the Senate of the United States, on the bill making appropriation for Internal Improvements, delivered on the 11th of April, 1828. Washington, printed-Charleston, re-printed, 1828.

THERE are three subjects pressing upon the public attention and feelings with an increasing power, threatening even to prostrate the fair fabric of our hopes and of our prosperity, and to obscure the lustre of that example which the United States were expected to exhibit for the instruction of mankind. It is remarkable, but it will not appear extraordinary to those who study carefully, the history and condition, and local peculiari