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falls the twilight of thought. A conviction has entered the bosom of the minstrel that he is not free to wander at will to the sound of his own music. His life cannot be a mere revel in the embrace of beauty. He too is a man, born to suffer and to act. He cannot throw off the re. sponsibility of life. He must sustain relations to his fellows. The scenery that delights him assumes a new as. pect. It appeals not only to his love of nature, but his sense of patriotism :
More tender ties bind the poet-soul to his native isle
Then was I thrilled and melted, and most warm
Thus gather the many-tinted hues of human destiny around the life of the young bard. To a mind of philo. sophical cast, the transition is most interesting. It is the distinguishing merit of Coleridge, that in his verse we find these epochs warmly chronicled. Most just is his vindication of himself from the charge of egotism. To what end are beings peculiarly sensitive, and capable of rare expression, sent into the world, if not to make us feel the mysteries of our nature, by faithful delineations, drawn from their own consciousness? It is the lot, not of the individual, but of man in general, to feel the sublimity of the mountain-the loveliness of the flower—the awe of devotion-and the ecstacy of love ; and we should bless those who truly set forth the traits and triumphs of our nature—the consolations and anguish of our human life. We are thus assured of the universality of Nature's laws—of the sympathy of all genuine hearts. Something of a new dignity invests the existence, whose common experience is susceptible of such portraiture. In the keen regrets, the vivid enjoyments, the agonizing remorse and the glowing aspirations recorded by the poet, we find the truest reflection of our own souls. There is a noble. ness in the lineaments thus displayed, which we can scarcely trace in the bustle and strife of the world. Self. respect is nourished by such poetry, and the hope of immortality rekindled at the inmost shrine of the heart. Of recent poets, Coleridge has chiefly added to such obliga. tions. He has directed our gaze to Mont Blanc as to an everlasting altar of praise; and kindled a perennial flame of devotion amid the snows of its cloudy summit. He has made the icy pillars of the Alps ring with solemn an. thems. The pilgrim to the Vale of Chamouni shall not here. after want a Hymn by which his admiring soul may “ wreak itself upon expression.”
Rise, O, ever rise,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
To one other want of the heart has the muse of Coleridge given genuine expression. Fashion, selfishness, and the mercenary spirit of the age, have widely and deeply profaned the very name of Love. To poetry it flies as to an ark of safety. The English bard has set apart and consecrated a spot sacred to its meditation—midway on the mount,' “ beside the ruined tower ;' and thither may we repair to cool the eye fevered with the glare of art, by gazing on the fresh verdure of nature, when
The moonshine stealing o'er the scene
Has blended with the lights of eve,
Our own dear Genevieve.
MR S. HE MAN S.
We have heard much of late regarding the rights and sphere of woman. The topic has become trite. One branch of the discussion, however, is worthy of careful notice—the true theory of cultivated and liberal men on the subject. This has been greatly misunderstood. The idea has been often suggested that man is jealous of his alleged intellectual superiority, while little has been advanced in illustration of his genuine reverence for female character. Because the other sex cannot always find erudition so attractive as grace in woman, and strong men. tal traits so captivating as a beautiful disposition, it is absurdly argued that mind and learning are only honored in masculine attire. The truth is, men of feeling instinctively recognize something higher than intellect. They feel that a noble and true soul is greater and more delightful than mere reason, however powerful; and they know that to this, extensiveknowledge and active logical powers are not essential. It is not the attainments, or the literary talent, that they would have women ahjure. They only pray that through and above these may appear the woman. They desire that the barmony of nature may not be disturbed ; that the essential foundations of love may not be invaded ; that the sensibility, delicacy and
l quiet enthusiasm of the female heart may continue to awa. ken in man the tender reverence, which is one of the most elevating of his sentiments.
Portia is highly intellectual; but even while arrayed in male costume and enacting the public advocate, the essential and captivating characteristics of her true sex inspire her mien and language. Vittoria Colonna was one of the most gifted spirits of her age-the favorite companion of Michael Angelo, but her life and works were but the eloquent development of exalted womanhood. Madame Roland displayed a strength of character singularly heroic, but her brave dignity was perfectly feminine. Isabella of Spain gave evidence of a mind remarkably comprehensive, and a rare degree of judgment; yet in perusing her history, we are never beguiled from the feeling of her queenly character. There is au essential quality of sex, to be felt rather than described, and it is when this is marred, that a feeling of disappointment is the conse. quence. It is as if we should find violets growing on a tall tree. The triumphs of mind always command respect, but their style and trophies have diverse complexions in the two sexes. It is only when these distinctions are lost, that they fail to interest. It matters not how erudite or mentally gifted a woman may be, so that she remains in manner and feeling a woman. Such is the idea that man loves to see realized; and in cherishing it, he gives the highest proof of his estimation of woman. He de