listen to his song and honor it; and while the pencil of Appelles, and the chisel of Phidias, and the sword of Cæsar, and the engine of Archimedes, live only in the breath of tradition, or on the page of history, or in some perishable and imperfect fragment, the pen of Homer, of Virgil, or of Shakspeare, is an instrument of power as mighty and magical, as when first the gifted finger of the poet grasped it. Is poetry then the sweet comforter of the mind diseased the electric chain wherewith ages past, present, and future are bound — the mighty and magical power swaying the hearts and moulding the actions of men - a mere superfluity and ornament?' No, no: it is not: and the young poet who made the assertion, undervalued the gift of which he was a possessor; and we conceive that no full and correct exposition can be made of the benefits of poetry, without treating it as practical, in its final tendencies.

England is the only powerful nation with whom we have ever been at war. A little more than half a century since, we were placed in that peculiar relation toward her, which is calculated of all others to beget feelings of deadly hostility; and the people of both countries naturally fostered sentiments of aversion to each other, and magnified all attributed political vices, and national defects. Not a quarter of a century has passed away, since a war of several years' duration was waged with Great Britain, when old feelings of hatred were revived, and from the smouldering ashes of past dissensions, a new flame was kindled, that made the hearts of the American people burn with indignation, and caused them to speak with additional severity of the nation which had so recently given them fresh grounds for enmity. Other causes of dispute and discussion have arisen between the two countries; but notwithstanding all these reasons for mutual ill-feeling, we may safely say, that in the affairs of no nation do the people of the United States take a deeper or a kindlier interest, than in those of Great Britain, and that toward no people do they entertain more friendly and respectful sentiments. The impression made on the American people by the English poets, will never be effaced! It preserved its influence in the stormiest days of the revolution; it had a still small voice,' even amid the din of battle; it now aids in preserving those amicable relations between the two countries, which are a present source of satisfaction to both; and if not weakened by some new and unexpected subject of angry controversy, will continue to brighten and strengthen the bands of an honorable friendship.

Above all poets who have contributed to make this impression, Shakspeare stands preeminent. His works are known and admired by all classes, in both countries, and his potent influence has moulded their feelings, and swayed their minds. The words of Sprague, in his fine ode to the deathless bard of Avon, are those of truth and soberness :'

'Our Roman-hearted fathers broke
Thy parent empire's galling yoke;
But thou, harmonious monarch of the mind,
Around their sons a gentle chain shall bind,
Once more in thee shall Albion's sceptre wave,

And what her mighty Lion lost, her mightier Swan shall save.'

After a long and fearful lethargy, the spirit of liberty in Greece

exhibited signs of reanimation, and the glad tidings sent a thrill of joy to every lover of free institutions. We knew that the Greeks had degenerated; we were acquainted with their faults and their vices; but Greece was the land of Homer; the tones of his lyre still breathed in our ears; he had written as with a diamond the glory and the greatness of Greece upon our hearts; he had shown to us her trials and her fortitude; he had exhibited her heroes and her statesmen; he had sung of her battles and her victories; we sympathized with her in her misfortunes - we rejoiced in her prosperity; and when degenerate and disgraced, but not despairing, Greece lifted up her hands for succor - when the voice of her lamentation came mournfully over the Atlantic waves - we could not find it in our hearts to resist its power, and were led to relieve the unfortunate, not only by that present misery which we saw, but also by that past greatness which her poets had revealed to us.

The enthusiasm which was excited some years since, in behalf of unfortunate and oppressed Poland, was none the less ardent for the sympathy excited by CAMPBELL. He had written of the wrongs of that injured nation, of the bravery of her people, and of the devoted courage of her favorite warrior; he had summoned before our mind's eye that last scene in which the soldier acted, when

'Hope for a season bade the world farewell,
And freedom shrieked as Kosciusko fell.'

We saw the energies of Poland prostrated by the ruthless vengeance of the Autocrat; we saw

'On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,
His blood-died waters murmuring far below;
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call!
Earth shook, red meteors flashed along the sky,
And conscious nature shuddered at the cry.'

Poland became still more endeared to us by the eloquence of the poet; and when she again determined to resist the rod of the oppressor, our hearts and our prayers were with her, and we proved our good wishes in a more substantial manner than by mere expressions of sympathy.

Few attachments are so strong that they cannot be increased; and poetry seems to make more powerful the beatings of a patriotic heart, and the aspirations of a patriotic mind. How spirit-stirring are the fine lines of Drake to our national banner! They seem to make us regard with still more fervent affection what we thought we had already losed to the utmost. Who, on reading that beautiful production, but has responded with a quickening pulse, and a prouder feeling, to the closing exclamation :

'Forever wave that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us?
With freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And freedom's banner streaming o'er us!'

This allusion to our national song, reminds us, that there is a wide field in which the American poet may employ himself, much to the increase of his own fame, and the good of his country. We want more national songs. Casual observers cannot appreciate their import

ance. They give a tone to the feelings of a nation; they unite the hearts of a people; and by creating a harmonious pulsation of patriotic fervor, they oppose a barrier to the inroads of discord and disunion. We should have songs to cheer the heart of the mariner on the bosom of the perilous ocean; songs for the farmer and the mechanic; songs for the country and the town; all, as far as practicable, containing some appropriate sentiment - all directing our attachments to our common country all strictly and truly American: and we should have one proud song, suited to all—one national anthem, that, like the Marseilles Hymn, of France, or the Ranz de Vaches, of Switzerland, should be dear to the bosom of every age, sex, and condition - that should be lisped by infancy, sung by budding youth, and vigorous manhood, and repeated in the tremulous accents of old age; a song that, like the war-torch of Scotland, which is carried with enthusiasm from clan to clan, should be handed down from generation to generation the 'song of songs' of the American people.* But aside from patriotic songs, there are many which confirm our love for domestic life, and virtuous conduct. A moral aphorism, which, when prosaically stated, might be considered merely as a dull saw, may, when skilfully woven in a popular song, prove a powerful auxiliary to the cause of truth.

Poetry can adapt herself to all ages. She can weave a simple ballad for childhood, or a fervent song for the youth ripening into manhood: she has her pictures of fireside happiness, and domestic comfort, for the parent, and her voice has a tone for the ear of the aged. She can adapt herself to all conditions; she has her simple and affecting narratives, for the poor and the humble; she has a trumpet-voice for the soldier, and the statesman, and a most refined speech for the scholar. She will be our companion at all times, and in all seasons; she will give an additional zest to prosperity; and when the season of adversity shall arrive, she will comfort the wounded spirit, and bind up the broken heart.

Miriam and Moses, the first authors, were poets; and their song of thanksgiving, on passing the Red Sea, has been styled at once the most ancient monument, and a master-piece of poetic composition;' and before the invention of letters, the religion, the laws, and the history of the different nations were handed down to posterity through the medium of poetry. Sculpture and painting are the fruits of long experience and unwearied care; and they have been gradually improved from the rudest imitations of nature to their present state; but poetry dates her mortal existence with the birth of mankind; and although the poet may employ his gift for unworthy purposes, it is still an emanation from the Deity:

'As sunshine broken by the rill,
Though turned astray, is sunshine still.'

And the most groundless and anomalous objections urged against poetry, are those which proceed from religious men. One great objection, on the part of such men, is the perversion of poetry to

We are heartily with our correspondent in this matter. 'Yankee Doodle,' as a national air, has neither dignity nor melody to recommend it. EDS. KNICKEREOCKER.

improper uses. As well might they tell the patriot not to draw the sword in behalf of his country, because it is the weapon of the oppressor; as well might they cast away the Book of Life, because its meaning is distorted by fools and fanatics. Poetry is most grand, when connected with religious subjects; and in her purest and most sublime personification, she does not, like Ajax, defy the lightning and the God who made it, but like the ethereal beings around the throne of heaven, she veils her burning eyes with her resplendent wings, when in the solemn presence of the Almighty. He who has no love for poetry, may lay to heart the precepts of the Bible; but there is a light upon the pages of that book which he sees not; there is a harmony in its language which he hears not; for there is a vein of poetry, pure, simple, and sublime, running through the whole sacred volume.

No Christian will pretend to doubt, that the language of the Bible is the very language best calculated to answer the purpose for which it is intended; neither will any Christian deny, that it is intended for the perusal of man, in all ages, countries, and conditions; and if the language of this book is poetry, it naturally follows that the most useful instructions and sublime truths should really exert the greatest influence on mankind, when communicated to the world through this fascinating medium. We meet with poetry on the very threshhold of the Bible. In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. And the earth was without form and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep: and the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, let there be light, and there was light.' How simple and how significant!-how appropriate, yet how poetical! How well is the language adapted to describe the operations of a supreme being! No perplexing reflections, no obstacles: He spake, and it was done; he commanded, and it stood fast.' He said, 'Let there be light, and there was light!'

We not only find poetry, in the abstract, in the Scriptures, but it has been maintained that a portion of the contents of that volume are written in accordance with certain rules of composition, approximating in some degree to those which govern poetry, in its most exclusive sense. 'Parallelism,' says Lowth, is a certain equality, resemblance, or relationship, between the members of each period; so that in one or more lines or members of the same period, things shall answer to things, and words to words, as if fitted to each other, by a kind of rule or measure.'

The following are examples of parallel couplets, which have been quoted from the Old and New Testaments:

VOL. IX.

'Seek ye Jehovah while he may be found,

Call upon him while he is near.'

'Pharaoh's chariots and his host hath he cast into the sea;

His chosen captains also are drowned in the Red Sen.'

'My soul doth magnify the Lord,

And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.'

'The memory of the just is blessed,

But the name of the wicked shall rot.'

'Faithful are the wounds of a friend,
But deceitful are the kisses of an enemy.'

31

Are tenderness, or sublimity, or simplicity of expression, elements of poetry? They are all in the Bible. Does poetry imply the invention of fictions? Look at the parables. Must it embrace comparisons and figures? Behold them in the Book of books. Take any of its attempted definitions, and they will all correspond with portions of the sacred volume.

In the New-Testament, we not only find poetry in its instructions, its descriptions, its parables, and its prophecies, but there is a majesty, a beauty, and an intellectuality in the action, embodying some of the finest elements of poetry. In the old dispensation, we read more of the frailties and the vices of men, but in the gospel we become acquainted with the perfect character and sublime conduct of Christ. A mediator is sent to reform, to save, the world. Had he appeared in all the paraphernalia of earthly pomp and regal splendor- had he descended as a conqueror, with his marshalled host, and glittering array - the passing vanities of earth might have seemed invested with a more sacred character.

But he came not thus. He was born in a manger, and died on the cross. He took advantage of no elevated situation in life; but poor, persecuted, and oppressed, he exhibited in stronger relief the grandeur of the soul, and the uses of adversity. Apart even from his divine character, the history of his life makes a deep impression upon the poetic mind; an impression so deep, that it wrung from the infidel Rousseau, the celebrated expression, when, alluding to the moral sublimity attending the last hours of Christ, he exclaims : 'SOCRATES died like a philosopher, but JESUS CHRIST like a GOD!' Take from us the belief in a future existence, and Poetry is shorn of her beams; but let her discuss those subjects connected with our immortal destiny, and she assumes an appearance of inexpressible glory; she strips us for a time of our earthly garments, that we may follow her to the pure river of life, and like the repentant tear which the Peri conveyed to the angel, removes the crystal bar which binds the gates of paradise.

Poetry is the appropriate handmaid of Religion; and says Wolfe: 'The homage of Voltaire to the muse's piety remains a bright memorial of her allegiance to Christianity.' When the powers of hell seemed for a time to prevail, and his principles had given a shock to the faith of Europe, the daring blasphemer ventured to approach the dramatic muse; but no inspiration would she vouchsafe to dignify the sentiments of impiety and atheism. He found that no impassioned emotion could be roused—no tragic interest excited— no generous and lofty feeling called into action, where those dark and chilling feelings pervade. He complied with the only terms upon