The foregoing examples are ample and honourable 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.

"Unhappy 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 son.
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 quiver'd 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 asperities 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 to 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.

AMERICAN SCENERY-FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

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 scene. But to a native American 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 patriotism 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 thes 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.

3

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 Thermopyla; and without despising the learning or the virtues of Europe, in our own annals

-fortia facta PARENTUM

Legere, et quæ sit poterit cognoscere virtus.

Newyork.

V.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

THE following description of Niagara Falls, which I am obligingly allowed 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. E.

Newyork, February, 1811.

FALLS OF NIAGARA.

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

congratulate ourselves on this very circumstance, as it occasioned our being spectators of a scene which travellers rarely witness. The warm southern breeze which had prevailed during the day, was now succeeded by a keen northwest air, though without any perceptible wind, which obliged us to ride wrapped in our great coats. This change in the weather produced the fine object which soon after presented itself. The twilight in this latitude is long and bright-and we had, at the distance of twelve miles, seen the top of a column of vapour, rising above the falls, still illuminated by the sun, whose beams had been for some time lost to us. The sound of the cataract was soon after heard, but the cloud was no longer in sight, owing to the bending of the road, and the thick shrubbery which bordered it. We had continued to travel rapidly on, with no very striking objects in view, for more than an hour; the farm houses, and overhanging trees on one hand, and the river full to its brim, flowing silently forward on the other: when suddenly turning an angle in the road, the stream presented itself, expanding to the breadth of two miles, and stretching forward three times that distance, smooth as glass, reflecting every star in the deep-blue concave above, and terminated by an object so grand, and even awful, that our whole party immediately stopped, struck with astonishment and almost with terror. The fine sheet of water before us, was lost in a black cloud, extending quite across the river, and rising to a height with which nothing in nature or art can be compared, by those who have not seen the Alps, or Alpine scenes. The cold stillness of the night rendered the cloud so compact, that it could not be penetrated by the eye, but seemed a column black as night, reaching from the earth to the heavens, uniting with the few dark clouds stationed above, and which, spreading to the right and left, appeared to form an overhanging crown, for this giant of the waters. On each side of this impenetrable curtain, near the earth, appeared the still glowing horizon, and, higher up, the deep blue firmament glittering with the starry splendour of a winter night. This scene was in full view, for an hour, as we proceeded on our way, during which time, we were frequently startled by a singular deception, which I think must have arisen from our being entirely unac

customed to look at objects, whose dimensions are so far be yond the limits of ordinary calculation, and with which nothing within the circle of our knowledge, can bear a comparison. Perhaps it might have been from our suddenly realizing the height of the object before us-for it would for a few moments, appear rapidly approaching. We would stop, and call to those of our party who were on horseback, to witness this phenomenon: but to their eyes the cloud was stationary. At another moment the same delusion would take place with them, and they would make the same claim to our attention. It was now ten o'clock, and one can hardly witness a scene unconnected with danger, more truly sublime than was before us, for the last half hour of our ride. The awful majesty of this black and massy column; standing, to appearance, almost within our reach-of such vast diameter, its base upon the water, and rising to an immeasurable height, with accompaniments so appropriate, the solemn calm of the atmosphere, the sullen roar of the cataract, and the death-like stillness of the night.

We had never heard of this part of the show of Niagara, consequently our surprise and admiration were the greater: but, I have since been told that it is not uncommon in winter, and a gentleman informed me, that he had at that season, been travelling for three days, on the borders of lake Erie, with the cloud constantly in view, supposing it to arise from a great fire, and that after having lost sight of it, as he approached more nearly, it suddenly burst upon his view at the same place, and with the same effect, that it did upon us.

NATURAL HISTORY-FOR THE PORT-FOLIO.

MR. EDITOR,

IN Evelyn's Sylva, a work more familiar, perhaps to European than American scholars, I remember to have perused, at the puerile age, many marvelous accounts of the extraordinary growth and di