heart what can be sweeter than the homage of youth? To a sympathising mind how consoling is the thought of having guided the generous impulses of boyhood toward freedom and truth by the charm of song! The fine speculations of the visionary, the cold logic of the learned have no fascination for the impatient heart of the young. When "years that bring the philosophic mind" have matured the judgment and tempered the feelings, highly thoughtful and imaginative poetry weaves its quiet spell with grateful power. But before that period, a clear and trumpet-toned appeal is needed; the muse must wear a fresh aspect and bound like Hebe in our pathway full of life and beauty, or charm with the spell of overpowering pathos. Language must come in bold and stirring notes; the idea must be simple, the sentiment true, the image affecting, or the appeal is vain. And the same is true in no small degree in later years. In the hour of retirement and intellectual luxury we turn with zest to all the masters of the art; but the bard who would arrest the attention of eager and busy manhood on his crowded path, must address him in frank and comprehensive terms, and awaken the sleeping echoes of his heart with a lofty and clear strain. When Croly, in his ode to Death, speaks of the

"Bards, sages, heroes side by side,

Who darkened nations when they died," or Byron in his monody on Sheridan, exclaims that "Folly loves the maryrdom of fame,"

or Sprague declares that

"Rulers and ruled in common gloom may lie,

But Nature's laureate bard shall never die."

we instantly receive the poet's thought and respond to his sentiment. And such simple force of language and

vigour of expression, is valuable for the very reason that it is so easily comprehended and so immediately felt. Many such expressive touches occur in the poetry of Campbell. In his lines to the Rainbow, two circumstances are introduced with striking conciseness:

"When o'er the green, undeluged earth
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine,
How came the world's gray fathers forth
To watch thy sacred sign!

And when its yellow lustre smiled

O'er mountains yet untrod,

Each mother held aloft her child

To bless the bow of God."

An instance of similar terseness and meaning may be found in the Valedictory Stanzas to Kemble:

"For ill can Poetry express

Full many a tone of thought sublime,
And Painting mute and motionless,
Steals but a glance from time.
But by the mighty actor brought,
Illusion's perfect triumphs come,
Verse ceases to be airy thought

And Sculpture to be dumb.”

The description of an Indian chief in "Gertrude," affords another illustration:

"As monumental bronze unchanged his look;
A soul that pity touched but never shook;
Trained from its tree-rocked cradle to his bier,
The fierce extreme of good and ill to brook,
Impassive-fearing but the shame of fear—
A stoic of the woods, a man without a tear."

He finely compares the humming bird's wings to "atoms of the rainbow fluttering round," and calls absence "the pain without the peace of death." Madame de Stael says that the fragility of delight constitutes the great secret of its charm. How graphically has Camp

bell portrayed in a single line the evanescent character of human pleasure:

"And in the visions of romantic youth

What years of endless bliss are yet to flow !
But. mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth?

The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below."

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The enthusiasm with which the Pleasures of Hope' were written is evinced by the eloquent liveliness of the strain, and not less by the poet's frequent recurrence to the main subject, and the fresh ardour with which he resumes after a slight digression. He constantly addresses Hope anew, as auspicious, primeval, eternal, congenial, the angel of life and the friend of the brave. The praise of Love and the protest against Scepticism in this poem, are among the best examples of heroic verse in the language. "Theodric" is conceived in a more familiar vein, but contains some very beautiful developments of sentiment. The half-pastoral, half-romantic spirit of "Gertrude of Wyoming" has long made it a distinguished favourite. But the martial lyrics of Campbell have been his great sources of renown. In early life he visited Germany, then the theatre of war, and carried from that country very vivid impressions. He saw from his carriage window, a troop of hussars on their way from the field, wiping the blood from their sabres on the manes of their horses. The effect of these scenes upon his imagination is easily recognised in the awakening lines of "Lochiel," and the rhythmical magic of "Hohenlinden," "The Battle of the Baltic," and "Mariners of England." And we have a more tender revelation of the associations of war in the "Soldier's Dream." Were we to select the most impressive specimen of Campbell's command of thought and metre, of his skill in making "sound an echo to the sense," it would be certain stanzas of the noble ode entitled "Hallowed Ground." An elocution

ist of genius and sensibility, can give to this poem a most solemn effect, resembling the mingled elevation and delight which steals over us in a Gothic church. How lofty the sentiment and musical the flow of the following

verses:

"What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap!
In dews that heavens far distant weep
Their turf may bloom;

Or Genii twine beneath the deep
Their coral tomb.

"But strew his ashes to the wind,

Whose sword and voice has served mankind

And is he dead whose glorious mind

Lifts thine on high?"

To live in hearts we leave behind

Is not to die.

"Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right?
He's dead alone who lacks her light!
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight
The sword he draws:-

What can alone ennoble fight?

A noble cause!

"Give that! and welcome War to brace

Her drums, and rend Heaven's reeking face.
The colours planted face to face,

The charging cheer,

Though death's pale horse led on the chase,
Shall still be dear.

"What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!

Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth
Earth's compass round;

And your high priesthood shall make earth
All hallowed ground."

WORDSWORTH.

In an intellectual history of our age, the bard of Rydal Mount must occupy a prominent place. His name is so intimately associated with the poetical criticisms of the period, that, even if his productions are hereafter neglected, he cannot wholly escape consideration. The mere facts of his life will preserve his memory. It will not be forgotten that one among the men of acknowledged genius in England, during a period of great political excitement, and when society accorded to literary success the highest honours, should voluntarily remain secluded amid the mountains, the uncompromising advocate of a theory, from time to time sending forth his effusions, as uncoloured by the poetic taste of the time, as statues from an isolated quarry. It has been the fortune of Wordsworth, like many original characters, to be almost wholly regarded from the two extremes of prejudice and admiration. The eclectic spirit, which is so appropriate to the criticism of Art, has seldom swayed his commentators. It has scarcely been admitted, that his works may please to a certain extent, and in particular traits, and in other respects prove wholly uncongenial. Whoever recognizes his beauties is held responsible for his system; and those who have stated his defects, have been unfairly ranked with the insensible and unreasonable reviewers who so fiercely assailed him at the outset of his career. There is a medium ground, from which we can survey the sub