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The bright ones of the valley break
Their slumbers, and awake.

"The waving verdure rolls along the plain,
And the wide forest weaves,

To welcome back its playful mates again,
A canopy of leaves.

And from the darkening shadow floats
A gush of trembling notes.

"Fairer and brighter spreads the reign of May;
The tresses of the woods

With the light dallying of the west-wind play;

And the full brimming floods,

As gladly to the goal they run,

Hail the returning sun."

In the "Prevalence of Poetry," we perceive the exuberance of Percival's mind displayed with fine effect. The fancy and sentiment of the piece seem to flow directly from the true inward sources of the ideal.

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Is living with its spirit; and the waves
Dance to the music of its melodies,

And sparkle in its brightness. Earth is veil'd

And mantled with its beauty; and the walls

That close the universe with crystal in
Are eloquent with voices, that proclaim
The unseen glories of immensity
In harmonies too perfect and too high
For aught but beings of celestial mould,
And speak to man, in one eternal hymn,
Unfading beauty and unyielding power."

He evinces a thorough knowledge of what poetry is not, while he pours out his heart in praise of what poetry is.

""Tis not the chime and flow of words, that move

In measured file and metrical array;

"T is not the union of returning sounds,
Nor all the pleasing artifice of rhyme,
And quantity, and accent, that can give
This all-pervading spirit to the ear,

Or blend it with the movings of the soul.
'Tis a mysterious feeling, which combines
Man with the world around him, in a chain
Woven of flowers, and dipp'd in sweetness, till

He tastes the high communion of his thoughts
With all existences, in earth and heaven,
That meet him in the charm of grace and power.
'Tis not the noisy babbler, who displays,

In studied phrase, and noisy epithet,

And rounded period, poor and vapid thoughts,
Which peep from out the cumbrous ornaments
That overload their littleness. Its words
Are few, but deep and solemn."

Percival has less subjectivity, less of the brooding, philosophizing spirit, than any of his eminent contemporaries. His imagination, considered as a shaping faculty, is not so great as Dana's, Longfellow's, and perhaps Bryant's; but in fancy he excels them all. Indeed, the quickness with which the latter quality works, and the disposition of Percival to hurried composition, have not been favorable to the culture of high imaginative power. When the mind is really disturbed by the "fine frenzy," the imagination has no lack of activity in its motions; but when the poet, instead of being frenzied, is only a little "light-headed," it disdains to give its aid. In Percival, the feeling is often high and the verse winged, when the imagery is only common. His poems do not always seem adequately to convey the whole power of the mind from which they proceed.

Few poets in Mr. Griswold's motley collection excel Fitz-Greene Halleck in popularity. His metrical compositions, though not deficient in high qualities, do not require a very subtle taste in the reader in order to be appreciated. The frequent blending of serious thought and emotion with playful and careless fancies enables him to pass at once for a man of sentiment and a man of the world. He has more of the faculty than the feeling of the poet. He reposes little faith in his own creations. He is hardly willing to plant himself with undoubting confidence upon the eternal principles of the soul, on which the poetical is based, and avoid or repel the fleeting feelings and opinions which sometimes threaten and cloud their dominion. By the impertinence of his wit, he almost gives the impression that poetry is a mere juggle, and that he cares not to keep the secret. At times, he places the ideal and the actual face to face, and remains himself an indifferent spectator of the result. At others, he will evoke spirits from the vasty deep of imagina

tion, only to point and fleer at them, when they have obeyed his call. He has few serious thoughts that are not more or less associated with ludicrous ideas. A little laughing imp seems to sit opposite the fountains of his heart, and dispel with the merry flash of his eye every shade and thin essence which rise in misty beauty from their surface. In perusing some of his poems, we are tempted to call him a man of pure sentiment and fine imagination ruined by reading "Don Juan." There are poetical powers displayed in Marco Bozzaris," "Burns," "Woman," and others of his serious poems, which we dislike to see played with and perverted. To produce a shock of surprise by the sudden intrusion of an incongruous idea into a mournful or sentimental flow of feeling, is but little above the claptrap of the stage. We are aware, that, in Halleck's case, this is done in an inimitable manner, and that the effect on one's risible faculties is irresistible; but still there are few who desire to be choked with a laugh, at the very moment when the tears are starting from their eyes. It introduces a species of skepticism, which is destructive to the enjoyment of poetry. The loftiness, purity, and tenderness of feeling, which Halleck can so well express, when he pleases, and the delicate and graceful fancies with which he can festoon thought and emotion, should never be associated with what is mean or ridiculous, even to gratify wit or whim. There is a kind of merry malevolence in the abasement of ennobling feelings and beautiful images, which is less pardonable than open scoffing, because more inju


It is quite common for the critics of Longfellow's poetry to escape the trouble of analysis, by offering some smooth eulogium on his taste, and some "lip-homage to his artistical ability. Mr. Griswold satisfies his conscience by saying, that Longfellow's works are eminently picturesque, and are distinguished for nicety of epithet and elaborate, scholarly finish. He has feeling, a rich imagination, and a cultivated taste." It seems to us, that these terms are as applicable to other American poets as to Longfellow. They do not indicate the characteristics of his genius, or give a glimpse of the spirit by which it is pervaded. A person, in reading the "Psalm of Life," does not say that this poem is "distinguished for nicety of epithet and elaborate, scholarly finish "; but rather, that this poem touches the heroic string

of my nature, breathes energy into my heart, sustains my lagging purposes, and fixes my thoughts on what is stable and eternal. Without questioning the artistical excellence of this poet, we still think that it is thrust forward too prominently in all notices of his writings. That which lies behind his style and mere mechanical skill should be first considered. The thought is of more importance than the manner of saying it. If the former be worthless, then the latter is not worth consideration. A poet who expresses nothing, with great "nicety of epithet," or with " elaborate, scholarly finish," is still only good for nothing. The questions which are of real moment relate to qualities which lie deeper than


The great characteristic of Longfellow, that of addressing the moral nature through the imagination, of linking moral truth to intellectual beauty, is a far greater excellence. His artistical ability is admirable, because it is not seen. It is rather mental than mechanical. In truth, it may be doubted if he is more distinguished as an artist than Dana or Bryant. If by saying that a poem is artistical, we mean that its form corresponds with its spirit, that it is fashioned into the likeness of the thought or emotion it is intended to convey, then "The Buccaneer" and "Thanatopsis " are as artistical as any of the "Voices of the Night." If mere skill in the use of multitudinous metres be meant, then Percival is more artistical than either. If mechanical ingenuity in forcing sentiment into forms to which it has no affinity be the meaning, then to be artistical is a fault or an affectation. The best artist is he who accommodates his diction to his subject. In this sense, Longfellow is an artist. By learning "to labor and to wait," by steadily brooding over the chaos in which thought and emotion first appear to the mind, and giving shape and life to both, before uttering them in words, he has obtained a singular mastery over expression. By this we do not mean, that he has a large command of language. No fallacy is greater than that which confounds fluency with expression. Washerwomen, and boys at debating clubs, often display more fluency than Webster; but his words are to theirs, as the roll of thunder to the patter of rain. Language often receives its significance and power from the person who uses it. Unless permeated by the higher faculties of the mind, unless it be, not the clothing, but the "incarnation of thought," it is

quite an humble power. There are some writers who repose undoubting confidence in words. If their minds be filled with the epithets of poetry, they fondly deem that they have clutched its essence. In a piece of inferior verse, we often observe a great array of expressions which have been employed with great effect by genius, but which seem to burn the fingers and disconcert the equanimity of the aspiring word-catcher who presses them into his service. Felicity, not fluency, of language is a merit. There is such a thing, likewise, as making a style the expression of the nature of the writer who uses it. The rhetorical arrangement of Johnson is often pedantic, but it does not appear so bad in his writings as in the monstrous masses of verbiage beneath which the thin frames of his imitators are crushed. The style of Carlyle is faulty, when judged by the general rules of taste; but we should not desire that the rough gallop of his sentences should be changed for the graceful ambling of Addison's, without a corresponding change in his psychological condition.

Longfellow has a perfect command of that expression which results from restraining rather than cultivating fluency; and his manner is adapted to his theme. He rarely, if ever, mistakes "emotions for conceptions." His words are often pictures of his thought. He selects with great delicacy and precision the exact phrase which best expresses or suggests his idea. He colors his style with the skill of a painter. The warm flush and bright tints, as well as the most evanescent hues, of language, he uses with admirable discretion. In that higher department of his art, that of so combining his words and images that they make music to the soul as well as to the ear, and convey not only his feelings and thoughts, but also the very tone and condition of the soul in which they have being, he likewise excels. In "Maidenhood" and "Endymion," this power is admirably displayed. In what Mr. Griswold very truly calls one of his best poems, "The Skeleton in Armour," he manages a difficult verse with great skill. There is much of the old Norse energy in this conposition, that rough, ravenous battle-spirit, which, for a time, makes the reader's blood rush and tingle in warlike sympathy. But the manner in which the passions of the savage are modified by the sentiment of the lover, and the stout, death-defying heart of the warrior yields to that

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