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A sweet appearance, but a dread illusion,
(Here, behind the scenes, a voice sings
Soul of Alyar!
HEAR, sweet Spirit, hear the spell,
And at evening evermore,
* Shew pity, O Lord; words from a Roman Catholic Chauat.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Wordsworth and Coleridge are the two greatest poets of the modern age. In some respects their poetical character is similar; but the genius of Coleridge is more wild and energetic and on the whole of a higher order; that of Wordsworth is more still and contemplative. The language of the former combines richness and romance and splendour with its chastness ; that of the latter is severe in natural simplicity. Coleridge has more fancy and invention, and delineates objects that are in themselves beautiful or sublime, clothing them at the same time with associated intellectual and moral conceptions. Wordsworth's characteristic is “the power of raising the small'est things in nature into sublimity by the force of sentiment. His peculiarity is his combination of simplicity of subject with profundity and power of execution. He is sublime without the muse's aid, and pathetic in the contemplation of his own and man's nature."
He possesses great descriptive power, and delineates the varieties of natural scenery with minute accuracy of observation and appropriateness of colouring. It were easier to write an eulogy than to speak in calm admiration of the powerful manner in which he links universal human feeling with the loveliness of the external world. Passages come to view on every page in his volumes of which the spirit goes down into the stillest depths of the soul; and touches of exquisite tenderness are scattered abundantly with such simplicity and freedom, that they seem as if they had dropped unconsciously from the author in the pursuit of his silent musings.
The influence of his poetry is such that we cannot read it in a proper manner without having the understanding enlightened and the affections ameliorated. His are the thoughts which all mankind recognize as their most precious birthright. Every thing mean, passionate, and worldly, retires from their influence. All is purity, mildness, affectionate pathos; the lessons of experienced wisdom, noble philosophy, and pious reflection.
Amidst a multitude of minor poems, the most of which are beautiful, it were vain to point out the most exquisite; but the poem of The Brothers may be referred to among his pathetic pieces, as displaying, in his own words, “the strength of moral attachment, when early associated with the great and beautiful objects of nature.” The Excursion, his longest poem, combines all the qualities of excellence which delight us in his shorter productions, and is ihe noblest effort of a great and comprehensive mind. He is indeed a mighty poet; possessed of an imagination grand and powerful, equalling perhaps what any writer has exhibited since the days of Shakspeare and Milton.
WE ARE SEVEN.
-A simple child
I met a little cottage girl :
She had a rustic, woodland air,
66 Sisters and brothers, little maid,
“And where are they? I pray you tell."
Two of us in the church-yard lie, .
6. You say that two at Conway dwell,
Then did the little maid reply,
“ You run about, my little maid,
“ Their graves are green, they may be seen,” The little maid replied,
6 Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And often after sunset, sir,
So in the church-yard she was laid;
And when the ground was white with snow,
“How many are you then,” said I,
“ But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in Heaven!
THE COMPLAINT OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his jour
ney with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deerskins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he is unable to follow, or overtake them, he perishes alone in the desart; unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, Hearne's Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the Northern Lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise. This circumstance is alluded to in the first stanza of the following poem. .
BEFORE I see another day,
Alas! ye might have dragged me on
My Child! they gave thee to another,