turbulence and joy of soul from which much of his poetry seems to gush. The mind of the reader is hurried along the stream of his verse, and readily adopts his changing moods. "The Prevalence of Poetry," "Consumption," "Clouds," "Morning among the Hills," "Genius Slumbering," "Genius Waking," "The Sun," and "New England," are all excellent, and evince his artistical ability, and the range of his genius. We say artistical ability, because most of Percival's poems indicate greater capacity in the writer than is directly expressed. "New England" is a lyric known to every school-boy; and its warm patriotism and kindling energy have disturbed the mind of many a youth, while attempting to pierce into the heart of some tough problem in Euclid. May" is a little poem of exceeding beauty and sweetness, reflecting the very season it describes.

"I feel a newer life in every gale, —

The winds that fan the flowers,

And with their welcome breathings fill the sail,

Tell of serener hours,

Of hours that glide unfelt away

Beneath the sky of May.

"The spirit of the gentle south-wind calls

From his blue throne of air,

And, when his whispering voice in music falls,

Beauty is budding there;

The bright ones of the valley break

Their slumbers, and awake.

"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.

"The world is full of poetry- the air

Is living with its spirit; and the waves
Dance to the music of its melodies,
And sparkle in its brightness. Earth is veiled
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.

"T is 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.
'T is a mysterious feeling, which combines
Man with the world around him, in a chain
Woven of flowers, and dipped in sweetness, till
He tastes the high communion of his thoughts
Wit all existences, in earth and heaven,

That meet him in the charm of grace and power.
'T is 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 sou 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 imagination, 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 clap-trap 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 very 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 scepticism, 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 injurious. Perhaps, in Halleck, this mischievous spirit is to be referred, in some degree, to that fear of being sentimental which is apt to characterize robust and healthy natures.

It is quite common for the critics of LONGFELLOW'S poetry to escape the trouble of analysis by offering some smooth eulogium to 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, on what is stable and eternal. 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

and fixes my thoughts Without questioning the