Did legislation look; which full he fix'd Turn now, where stood the spotless Virgin: sweet Her face. As on her son, her GOD, she gazed, Or on those nights of terror, when, from worse SECTION IV. (1) CHARLES SPRAGUE, of Boston, has displayed ex quisite taste in some of his poems. Read the follow ing account of a death and burial at sea. "Return! alas! he shall return no more, To bless his own sweet home, his own proua shore. The setting sun flings round his farewell rays; ; None but a man of strong domestic and social affections could have written thus. Of these affections there may be seen delightful evidence in "The Brothers," and the "Family Meeting;" also in his " Centennial Ode," and "Lines to a Young Mother." (2.) CARLOS WILCOX, of New-Hampshire, deserves honorable mention. G. B. Cheever, one of the best prose writers in this country, remarks that "Wilcox resembled Cowper in many respects; in the gentleness and tenderness of his sensibilities-in the modest and retiring disposition of his mind-in its fine culture and its original poetica. cast, and not a little in the character of his poetry. It has been said with truth, that if he had given himself to poetry as his chief occupation, he might have been the Cowper of New England. SECTION V (1.) WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, of Massachusetts, born in 1794. At ten years of age he began to write poetry for the press. When fourteen years old he published a volume of poems, which was so well received as to attain a second edition in the following year. The North American Review furnishes what seems to be a just criticism upon Bryant as a poet, a part of which is here subjoined. "His poetry has truth, delicacy, and correctness, as well as uncommon vigor and richness; he is always faithful to nature; he selects his groups and images with judgment. Nothing is borrowed, nothing artificial; his pictures have an air of treshness and originality which could come from the student of nature alone. He is less the poet of artificial life than of nature and the feelings. There is something for the heart as well as for the understanding and fancy, in all he writes; something which touches our sensibility, and awakens deep-toned, sacred reflections." “Again, he charms us by his simplicity. His pictures are never overcharged. His strains, moreover, are exquisitely finished. Besides, no sentiment or expression ever drops from him which the most rigid moralist would wish to blot." "Thanatopsis" has been already referred to. We forbear to quote it, merely because it has been so often copied, and may, perhaps, be familiar. But we hesitate not to say that the language of poetry presents not a sweeter page than that which is occupied with Mr Bryant's address to the "Evening Wind TO THE EVENING WIND. "SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee To the scorch'd land, thou wanderer of the sea!" "Nor I alone: a thousand bosoms round And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse Summoning from the innumerable boughs grass "The faint old man shall lean his silver head His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And softly part his curtains to allow Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow." "Go-but the circle of eternal change, 'That is the life of Nature, shall restore, He hears the rustling leaf and running stream." We would be glad to quote Bryant's pieces on the "Death of the Flowers" and "Autumn Woods," but our prescribed limits forbid. We shall be obliged, also, to be more brief in the notices and quotations that follow, in respect to other authors, only adding the fine description given of Bryant, that "he is the translator of the silent language of Nature to the world," and the remark that his poems are valuable, not only for their intrinsic excellence, but for the purifying influence their wide circulation is calculated to exercise on national feelings and manners. (2.) FITZ-GREENE HALLECK, Connecticut, born 1795. He is author of the beautiful lines in memory of his friend Dr. Drake, the poet, beginning with "Green be the turf above thee, None knew thee but to love thee, None named thee but to praise." "Fanny," "Alnwick Castle," "Marco Bozzaris," are the best known of his productions. He is distinguished by a talent for satire. Says Bryant, “He delights in ludicrous contrasts. He venerates the past and laughs at the present. His poetry, whether serious or sprightly, is remarkable for the melody of the numbers; it is not the melody of monotonous and strictly regular measurement. He understands that the rivu let is made musical by obstructions in its channel." The following sketch of the "Yankees" is taken from an unpublished poem, entitled Connecticut "They love their land because it is their own, A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none. With merchandise, pounds, shillings, pence, and peddling, A decent living. The Virginians look As Gabriel on the devil in Paradise. But these are but their outcasts. View them near At home, where all their worth and pride are placed : And there the lowliest farm-house hearth is graced With manly hearts, in piety sincere, Faithful in love, in honor stern and chaste, In friendship warm and true, in danger brave, SECTION V. (1.) N. P. WILLIS, Maine, born 1807. In tne opin ion of Mr. Griswold, "the prose and poetry of Mr Willis are alike distinguished for exquisite finish and melody. His language is pure, varied, and rich; his imagination brilliant, and his wit of the finest quality. Many of his descriptions of natural scenery are written pictures and no other author has represented with equal vivacity and truth the manners of the age. His dramatic poems have been the most successful works of their kind produced in America. They exhibit a deep acquain ance with the common sympathies and passions, and are as remarkable as his other writings for affluence of language and imagery, and descriptive power. Willis is more than any other of our best writers the poet of the world, familiar with the secret springs of action in social life, and moved himself by |