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all regions and ages of the world; and has all those elements so happily mixed up in him, and bears his high faculties so temperately, that the most severe reader cannot complain of him for want of strength or of reason, nor the most sensitive for defect of ornament or ingenuity. Every thing in him is in unmeasured abundance, and unequalled perfection; but every thing so balanced and kept in subordination, as not to jostle or disturb or take the place of another. The most exquisite poetical conceptions, images, and descriptions, are given with such brevity, and introduced with such skill, as merely to adorn without loading the sense which they accompany. Although his sails are purple and perfumed, and his prow of beaten gold, they waft him on his voyage, not less, but more rapidly and directly, than if they had been composed of baser materials. All his excellencies, like those of nature herself, are thrown out together; and, instead of interfering with, support and recommend each other. His flowers are not tied up in garlands, nor his fruits crushed into baskets, but spring living from the soil, in all the dew and freshness of youth; while the graceful foliage in which they lurk, and the ample branches, the rough and vigorous stem, and the wide-spreading roots on which they depend, are present along with them, and share, in their places, the equal care of their creator.
WHEN Music, heavenly Maid! was young,
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined;
First, Fear-his hand, its skill to try,
Next, Anger-rush'd, his eyes on fire,
With woful measures, wan Despair—
Low, sullen sounds!-his grief beguiled;
But thou, O Hope!-with eyes so fair,
And, from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on Echo still through all her song!
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close: And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair!
And longer had she sung; but, with a frown,
He threw his blood-stain'd sword, in thunder, down,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And, ever and anon, he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat!
Her soul-subduing voice applied,
Yet still he kept his wild, unalter'd mien,
While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head!
Thy numbers, Jealousy!—to naught were fix'd;
Of differing themes, the veering song was mix'd:And now it courted Love-now, raving, call'd on Hate!
With eyes upraised, as one inspired,
Pale Melancholy—sat retired;
And from her wild, sequester'd seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: And dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound,
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole; Or o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay,—
Round a holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace, and lonely musing
In hollow murmurs died away!
But oh, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness-a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rungThe hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known:
The oak-crown'd sisters and their chaste-eyed queen, Satyrs, and Sylvan boys, were seen Peeping from forth their alleys green! Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear!
And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear!
Last, came Joy's ecstatic trial;
He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand address'd;
To some unwearied minstrel dancing!
As if he would the charming air repay,
THE AMERICAN INDIAN AND THE OCEAN.
OH! very far in the cathedral-aisles
Of that wild wood, with gleamy sun-light stain'd
From early dawn
And heathery cliff steep in the sunny air,
Of spirits in the sky!-Again!-again!-
Of living things, with low-toned, whispering stir?
And rings for aye!-He lifted mutely up
That rustled near, and in its upper boughs
She pass'd away, and beautiful as ever.
I will move on," murmur'd the wondering chief: A shadow cross'd his memory, of a tale
Of other days-which old and hoary men