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rible, they are uttered in a strain of indignant defiance, and with the spirit of a man conscious of his own powers; a spirit that kindles at a frown, and grows more formidable when opposed. The predominant character of his satire consists in that species of retort that turns a man's own words to his disadvantage. Of Scott's Marmion he exclaims in the words of the author;

“For this we spurn Apollo's favourite son,
And bid a long good-night to Marmion."

After imploring Southey to write no more, he cries.

“ But if in spite of all the world can say,
Thou still wilt verse-ward plod thy weary way;
The babe unbom, thy dread intent may rue,
"God help thee' Southey, and thy readers too."

Of Wordsworth and his “Ideot Boy” our author remarks

« Thus when he tells his tale of Betty Foy,
The ideot mother of an ideot boy;
So close on each pathetic part he dwells,
And each adventure so sublimely tells;
That all who view the ? Ideot in his glory,
Conclude the bard the hero of the story.

The sighing and simpering Coleridge is thus brought in contact with his subject:

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Ab how much sweeter were thy muses hap,
If to thy bells, thou would'st but add a cap.",

Of Scott's Lay of the last Minstrel:

“ And Lays of Minstrels, may they be the last.” Enough we presume, has been said to show the bards dexterity of retort; but this, though the principal feature of his wit, is not the only one. The fable of Sysiphus is thus handsomely hit off, when he speaks of Maurice's poem on the “ Beauties of Richmond hill:"

“ As Sysiphus against the infernal steep
Rolls the huge rock whose motions ne'er may sleep,
So up thy hill ambrosial Richmond, heaves
Dull Maurice, all his granite weight of leaves!
Smooth solid monuments of mental pain
The petrifactions of a plodding brain!

That e'er they reach the top fall lumbering back again.”
Amos Cottle is thus charactered:

“ Baotian Cottle, rich Bristowa's boast,
Imports old stories from the Cambrian coast.
Fresh fish from Helicon; who'll buy-who'll buy?

The precious bargain's cheap!-in faith--not I.” The bard occasionally forsakes this levity and speaks in a strain of bold, honest, and manly indignation worthy a disciple of Juvenal. The fate of poor Montgomery, whose fame was fairly hunted down by the Caledonian critics is thus expressed:

“ With broken lyre, and cheek serenely pale,
Lo sad Alceus wanders down the vale!
Though fair they rose, and might have bloom'd at last
His hopes have wither'd by the northern blast.
Nipp'd in the bud, by Caledonian gales,
His blossoms wither as the blast prevails.
Yet say why should the bard at once resign
His claims to favour from the tuneful nine?
Forever startled by the mangled howl
Of northern wolves, that still in darkness prowl;
A coward brood, which mangle as they prey
By hellish instinct all who cross their way:
Aged or young, the living or the dead,
No mercy find; these harpies must be fed.”

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The foregoing examples are ample and hondurable evidence of the talents of lord Byron as a satirist. The following is no less honourable to his feelings as a man. Henry K. White, he adds in a note, was a young man of excellent genius, who died in consequence of his intense application to his studies. This is the simple fact on which the following beautiful lines are founded, and a stronger instance cannot be produced of the difference between poetry and prose,

5Unhappy White, while life was in its spring
And thy young muse just wav'd her joyous wing,
The spoiler came; all, all thy promise fair,
Has sought the grave to sleep forever there.
Oh what a noble heart was here undone!
When Science self destroyed her favourite 8073.
Yet she too much indulg'd the fond pursuit;
She sow'd the seeds, but death has reap'd the fruit.
'Twas thine own genius gave the fatal blow,
And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low.
So the struck eagle stretched upon the plain,
No more thro' rolling clouds to soar again,
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quiverd in his heart.
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel,
He nurs'd the pinion that impelled the steel:
While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest,
Drank the last life drop of his bleeding breast."


Upon the whole, notwithstanding the many personal asperilies with which this poem abounds, we do not hesitate to recommend it as a noble specimen of chaste and vigorous, bold and classic verse. When the anger of the bard subsides a little by its indulgence, he no longer « strikes his lyre with a rude clash, or sweeps the strings with a hurried hand;" they are made 10 murmur with the strains of elegy, or to pour the more joyful sounds of panegyric. His versatile muse indulges all the caprice of her disposition, and whether her brow is contracted into frowns, or open and serene, whether her eye drops the tear of pity, or shoots glances of disdain; whether her lip pouts with resentment, or smiles in good humour; whatever character of phisiognomy she assumes, she wins respect and admiration.

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The annexed views of Fort Putnam and Fort Clinton present as correct an idea as can be given in a small compass, of the sublime scenery of West-Point and the highlands of Hudson, river. The effect of landscape painting, even in its highest state of perfection, depends so much on that principle of association, which by suggesting former combinations of imagery, bodies forth to the mind's eye the beautiful or the stern features of nature, where to an unpractised observer, nothing appears on the canvas but a feeble and indistinct outline; that we much doubt whether

any sketch of the pencil or the pen can alone afford a very satisfactory idea of the rude and solitary grandeur of this

But to a native Anerican ear the name of West-Point is so connected with the story of our revolutionary contest, as the rallying point of our power, the palladium of our liberty. The fortress from whose walls the storm of war was rolled back upon our invaders, where a breathing space was given to our patriot fathers, ere they roused themselves again to victory, where Arnold plotted and where Washington counselled, that the feeling of silent awe'which the sullen dignity of the place is so fitted to inspire, is absorbed in a yet higher and more sacred sentiment. “ To abstract the mind, says Johnson, from all local, emotion, would be impossible if it were endeavoured, and would be foolish if it were possible. Far from me and from my friends be that frigid philosophy, which would conduct us unmoved, over any ground which had been dignified by wisdom, bravery or virtue. That man is little to be envied whose patriotisin would not gain strength on the plain of Marathon, and whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona.” This sentiment is as natural as it is generous; and it is not less the dictate of practical wisdom than of elegant refinement to cherish these generous enthusiasms, and to call in their aid in rearing the great fabric of national character. That same principle which teaches the scholar to


Venerate the turf where Virgil trod,
And think it like no other sod;
And guard each leaf from Shakspeare's tree,
With druid like idolatry.

Vol. 1


may serve to fix and embody into active love of country, the lofty but cold speculations of abstract patriotism. Brief as are the annals of our nation, we may yet find in our history and in our country, many exemplars of virtue--many memorials of valour. The national pride and the classical prejudice of our ingenuous youth, may thus alike be made to contribute in giving dignity and refinement to their patriotism. At the tomb of Mount Vernon they may venerate the manes of our American Camillus, on the shore of Hobokur, they may bewail the untimely fate of our Cicero. At York Town they may behold our Marathon, and at West-Point our Thermopylæ; and without despising the learning or the virtues of Europe, in our own annals

-fortia facta PARENTUM Legere, et quæ sit poterit cognoscere virtus.




The following description of Niagara Falls, which I am obligingly allow. ed to transmit to the Editor of the Port Folio, was originally communicated to a friend, by the author, in connection with other accounts of a tour, made by him, through the Western country, in the summer and autumn of 1806. It comprises several views of the falls, from different points and at successive intervals, and it is thought, will not be deemed an unworthy companion of the perspicuous and forcible descriptions, which have already been given, of this wonder of our country. In those who have witnessed this stupendous curiosity, the view, as here described, from the Table Rock, will revive the emotions which on that spot, were excited in them, by the wild uproar and awful sublimity of the tumultuary cataract.

Newyork, February, 1811.


We crossed the Niagara where it issues from lake Erie, to its western side, so late in the afternoon, that we had, at sundown, fourteen miles to ride, which at the close of a fatiguing day's journey, was not very desirable: but, we had reason to

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