has not its proper importance in the minds of those who possess poetic genius and cultivate the muses at the present day. This may be accounted for by an examination of the lives and qualifications of such as are comprised in this description; by the insufficient propor tion that their slender labors bear to the fame which they covet, even though natural endowments might seem to exalt them above dependence on the restraints of art and method. How few of them could in these respects be tried by the standard of the most accomplished poet that a polite age has seen. It were a task to enumerate the rare native powers and external advantages that must combine to produce a Milton. He is indeed the beau ideal of the poetic character, nor could we condemn all who fail of the varied perfections of so high a model. What we admire in Milton, is the rare union of every aid and grace that follows cultivation, to the highest faculties entrusted to humanity; the comprehension of view, that, evident from the scope of his studies, and exemplified in the earliest of his productions, embraces all that is essential or subsidiary to his exalted labor; springing from the great capacity of his own genius, but developed in every part only, by the enthusiastic study of all the masters of his art, the canonized classics of every language, and that in the spirit of the profound scholarship of his day, the anatomist-like investigation of the philologist. Now the variety and extent of each man's powers allowed for, after his example and in conformity to the advancement of this age beyond that in which he lived, should be the cultivation those powers receive; in all respects is this true, but especially so as regards the nature and qualities of language, the subtil material that is an index not only of the plastic power of the poet, but of the vividness of his fancies and the energy and clearness of all his intellectual operations. Who can read some of the minor poems of Milton, and indeed much of the poetry of his time, or of any who have been trained in the thoroughness of classical study that once existed, and not see in their occasional imitations of the ancients, marks of the impressions which the old models made on them by those graces which are purely of the art of poetry? In how many cases this may have been to the prejudice of their originality, it is of little moment to decide; how far the Lycidas is marred by its known resemblance in some point to Virgil's 10th Eclogue, no one ever thought to enquire; no more, to estimate in what degree is due to Milton's comprehensive learning in this kind, that power over his own tongue unsurpassed before or since, which, to the mind of every reader, sets forth his golden thoughts in numbers that so fill the ear, while to the raised soul they bring a sense of their entire adequacy to all that the poet labors to express.

The perfection of poetic diction is indispensable to the highest poetic praise; and the latter has been attained by those only who have been most thoroughly conversant at whatever period, and by whatever means, with the capacities of their native tongue, and most

studious of that which for want of a better term, we may call the genius of expression. This is true of the greatest in all time. This it is that has embalmed, as men say, their productions, so that their vigor, and freshness, and beauty, seem only enhanced by age. This is, we conceive, a reason why the older English retain the hold they do on the affections of the scholars of our day. They are not always to be read for the concise or the free and flowing in style, but rather, we should say, for rare felicity in all that is strong, or simply naturally beautiful in phrase, in our literature.

Literary history will show that with as near a likeness in other respects as may be, those works of the British poets for instance, are more celebrated as English classics, and have conferred a more lasting fame on their authors, which approached nearest to perfection in the high art of embodying. Shakspeare, "the wild above rule of art," may at first seem a striking refutation of this remark; and though it should jar with that peculiar veneration in which his instinctive and untutored genius is held, to represent him in the act of transcribing his immortal plays, weighing and sounding words, yet it were nothing unworthy of his genius, nor do his pages discountenance the idea. True he did not observe in the construction and linking of the members the fixed rules of the drama; his is not the stately, heavy, scholar-like buskin of his great rival; yet is there in him a refined conception, never surpassed, of the fitness, the power, the adequacy of his mother English. When we consider the unquestioned and lasting preeminence of Gray and Campbell as poets, who have thrown such amaranthine graces around their lofty creation as their exquisitely cultivated sense of the powers and charms of verse, and artist-like "limæ labor" alone enabled them to realize, we have a convincing testimony of the value of the art in Poetry. Gray's productions are few, but where does the celestial fire with which his genius was touched by nature, ever seem to have wasted in the slow process of the transfusion; his odes especially have an intensity that completely answers our idea of the rapture, the "divine afflatus," of the born bard.

The practice of poets at the present day certainly indicates a less exalted notion of the value of the art of poetry than we have attempted to present; than can well be entertained by minds bred as the poet's should be; than is exemplified (a rare instance among the living children of the muse,) in the high-wrought verse of Campbell, a poet than whom none as we conceive has woven our English into periods of more soul-rousing ardor, more picturesque power and beauty, more mournful pathos. The short lyric (we should call it such) Hohenlinden is an adequate specimen of each of these kinds; no word but heightens the coloring of the impressive picture; but has an individual force in moving the sentiment with which we see the beholder of the scene was animated. It should be read aloud with the best of elocution. Along with the varied style which each

verse demands, the mind is raised to a pitch from which it unwillingly descends; short and descriptive, we can here see clearly how the genius of the poet and the medium through which he sees come in to give it every touch it needs and (which is perhaps the higher art) none that are not essential to the effect.

To display the merits of Campbell would lead one a long way, but we may say that setting aside the native qualities of his genius, in which we conceive, few of his contemporaries surpass him, he has fixed the verdure of his bays and made classic the name of the author of the "Pleasures of Hope," by that superiority which has long been accorded him in the incomparable art of the poet.

We remember to have seen it thrown out as something in disparagement of the powers of Halleck that his fine lyrics bear evidence by their very strength and polish to severe labor in the composition. Yet these same productions, few in number, have given him a rank among American poets for vigor of sentiment, and at the same time, force and beauty of language and exquisite versification, such as some of his weaklier brethren may emulate in vain.

We would shun the absurdity of substituting the shape for the living soul of every creation of the mind. We have aimed simply to present an idea of the value of poetic diction, considered as an art, and of the necessity of it in its perfection as an element of the highest poetic praise.

Yale College.

Z.

LOVE'S RASH PROMISE.

THERE'S sadness on her aching brow,
And paleness on her cheek;
For deep within there's writ a vow
Those lips can never speak:

A vow which binds its slavish chain
Around that stricken heart;
Which deeply plants a withering pain,
And bids it ne'er depart.

Her joyous laugh has pass'd away,
And sighs have fill'd its place;

While sunny smiles no longer play

Across that lovely face.

Those eyes which once more brightly flash'd,

Than diamond's brilliant light,

Are dimm'd with tears, like rain-drops dash'd
Across the stars of night.

OWING to certain local causes, the winds along the American coast usually prevail from the southwest between the months of June and September, and have therefore been called by sailors the "American trade winds." As our average course for Europe was about east-north-east, these semi-trades were on our quarter, and consequently the first part of the voyage was quickly and pleasantly performed. The breeze was variable in its freshness, and at times would die away to a mere fanning zephyr. It was my favorite amusement on such occasions to row off in the jolly-boat to some distance from the Java, that I might observe and admire her appearance. It has been said that "the two most beautiful sights, are a pretty woman in full dress, and a large ship under full sail." Whether the former be correct or not, judge ye;-of the latter there can be no doubt. Whoever has seen it will acknowledge the truth of the assertion. Alone on the bosom of the ocean, the only object upon which the eye can rest, the gallant bark dispossesses us of the idea that she is but a collection of inanimate matter, united by the skill of man, and seems to be suddenly endued with life, and a noble queen of the billows as she is, to move among them as if conscious of her superiority and imperial dignity. Though they may at times conspire for her destruction, yet again and again are they baffled; or if some wave more desperate than the rest plays the assassin's part, then wrapping close around, her own white sails for a winding sheet, and raising herself to the very sky that she may

give the parting kiss of forgiveness to the storm-clouds, as they vent their rage upon her, she dies as a queen should die,

-"nor unlamented nor unsung."

From the day on which we took our departure from the Cape until the twentieth of September, the royals had not been taken in. So favorable had been the breeze, and so pleasant the weather, that even our little main-skysail had done us no unimportant service by exerting its infant strength to hasten us on our course. But these days of sunlight and serenity were drawing to a close. The westerly wind had entirely died away, and for the space of fifteen hours there was a dead calm. Not a ripple was to be seen on the waters, nor a sound heard except the flapping of the sails against the masts as the ship rose and fell with the fast expiring swell. The morning of the twentieth was as lovely a one as can be found in that season of the year when 66 summer seems to linger in the lap of autumn." The sun drove up his burning chariot from his eastern palace unattended by a single cloud; and, clad in all his regal insignia about to cross the equinoctial line, seemed to shine with unusual warmth and brilliancy. The calm still continued, and alone the bright king rode on, until he reached his meridian height. Here, in his vanity, he lingered for a moment to gaze upon himself in the ocean's waveless mirror, and then hastened on to his western home. This movement was the signal for the elements. No sooner had the sun turned his back upon the meridian than cloud after cloud began, slowly at first and as if in fear, but afterwards more confidently, to rise above the eastern horizon. These were the "light scuds" coming as pioneers to select the spot and prepare the way for the meeting and revelry of the elements. Others more dense succeeded, and the dark heavy bank which lay along the eastern board, unbroken by a single glen, warned us that a storm was rapidly approaching. Soon after the rising of the "scud" a slight dark-green ripple was seen at a distance upon the waters, and in a few moments the breeze reached the ship. All the light sails were taken in, and the topgallant-sails, together with the mainsail, handed. The wind continued rapidly to freshen, while the dashing of the spray beneath the bow, and the incessant gurgling of the water as it rolled up under the counter of the ship, indicated that we were leaping over the billows at no slow pace. As the wind was about northeast, and consequently ahead, the Java was going close-hauled; but so smooth as yet was the sea, that all sails being full she made no leeway, and sailed nearly as fast as if the wind had been abeam or on the quarter.

I was now about to witness, and, as I anticipated, to enjoy that sight which had been the ultimatum of my wishes, a storm at sea.

zon.

A glen is a bright spot between the lower edge of the cloud-bank and the hori