membered among those who have deserved well of the republic of letters. The history of the plan and progress of this poem, is succinctly related in the preface ;a and the proem and conclusion are in a style of sentiment, and expression, not nnworthy of one, who might have drunk deeply into the spirit, of the exquisite tribute of Milton to his 'loved Lycidas.' The incidents are, as they should be, simple; although history has given a local habitation' to the fictitious hero, the fancy of the authors has supplied him with his name.' The scene is Mount Haup; a spot to which its own romantic beauty, and the death of the warrior king, have given just celebrity. Setting aside the beautiful descriptions of scenery, with which the poem abounds, and the Indian superstitions which form its machinery, and are thoroughly wrought into its texture, the story is briefly told.-After the general defeat of the Pequots · with other barbarous tribes, and the destruction of Narraganset Fort, Philip, with his followers, is lurking in the forests of Mount Haup. He recounts to them their injuries in a powerful harangue, and rouses them to a general expression of revengeful determination, by their characteristic war-whoop;-one of them, Agamoun, does not join the cry; and being sternly questioned by Philip, confesses that he considers all further attempts to resist

a The account prefixed to this poem, shows that it was written in separate portions, by the late Rev. Mr. Eastburn and his friend the Editor, during the winter of 1817-18, and the following spring. Mr. Eastburn was pursuing the study of divinity at Bristol, R. I. and mentioned to the Editor the project of a poetical romance, the theme of which should be the adventures of King Philip, the Sachem of Pokanoket the plan was drawn up in conjunction. The poem was written according to the parts severally assigned; and transmitted, reciprocally, to Bristol and New-York, in the course of correspondence. Mr. Eastburn was ordained in October, 1818 :- "Between that time and the period of his going to Accomack county, in Virginia, whence he had received an invitation to take charge of a congregation, he transcribed the two first Cantos of this Poem, with but few material variations, from the first collating copy. The labours of his ministry left him no time, even for his most delightful amusement. He had made no further progress in the correction of the work, when he returned to this city, in July, 1819. His health was then so much impaired, that writing of any kind was too great a labour. He had packed up the manuscripts, and intended to finish his second copy in Santa Cruz, whither it was recommended to him to go, as the last resource, to recruit his exhausted constitution. He died on the fourth day of his passage, Dec. 2d, 1819.

He left among his papers a great quantity of poetry, of which his part of Yamoyden' forms but a small proportion. His friends may think proper, at some future period, to make selections from his miscellaneous remains, and arrange them for publication." p. vi.

:

their civilized invaders, useless; and advises that they should purchase peace by submitting to their power. Philip instantly executes the summary justice of a Sachem, upon his traitorous officer; and threatens Ahauton, a leader of the same tribe, who interposes in behalf of his friend, with similar punishment; Ahauton desists, and since he is unable to save, determines to avenge his brother warrior. The dangers, to which Philip and his tribe are exposed, requiring exclusive devotion on the part of his followers, he orders several of them, among whom is Ahauton, to remove secretly the wife and child of Yamoyden, a Nipnet chief attached to his cause, so that being free from the ties of domestic affection, he may yield himself up entirely to the hatred of their enemies and the service of his leader this introduces two new characters of considerable interest; Fitzgerald, who, having killed his own brother in Cromwell's wars, and having been afterwards bereaved of a beloved wife, flies in remorse and disgust of life to the wilds of America; and Nora, his daughter, who adds another to the list of her father's woes by deserting him and following her lover, Yamoyden, to his retreat. She and her child are seized, during Yamoyden's absence, by the party commissioned by Philip; but she is afterwards rescued by a party of Indians and settlers, among whom is her father; one of the Indians whose prisoner she had been, escapes with her child; but Abauton surrenders himself, and offers to guide the enemies of Philip to his retreat; in order that he may accomplish his purpose, of avenging his friend Agamoun: He does so; the followers of Philip are massacred; and he falls himself by the hand of Ahauton; the child of Yamoyden is unexpectedly delivered by Fitzgerald from being sacrificed to Hobamoqui, the evil spirit of Indian superstition: Yamoyden is killed by one of the followers of Philip, in attempting to avert a blow aimed at Fitzgerald; and Nora, who has been an agitated spectator of the whole contest, expires on the body of Yamoyden.

We shall present our readers with a few extracts, from the body of the poem; enough to enable them to judge of some of its merits; but, we hope, not enough to prevent them from reading the poem itself, and forming for themselves a fair estimate of the claims of its authors, to the ivy wreath.'

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The following passage affords a touching picture of the destitution of the barbarous lords of the soil, after the destruction of Narraganset Fort. p. 16-18.

'Stabbed in the heart of all their power,

The voice of triumph from that hour

Rose faintly, mid the heathen host,

Sunk was their pride, and quelled their boast.

Broken and scattering wide and far,

Feebly they yet maintained the war.

Spring came; on blood alone intent,
Men o'er her flowers regardless went;
Thro' cedar grove and thicket green,
The serried steel was glistening sheen;
Earth lay untilled; the deadly chase
Ceased not of that devoted race,
Till of the tribes whose rage at first
In one o'erwhelming deluge burst,
No trace the inquiring eye could find,
Save in the ruins left behind..

Like wintry torrent they had poured;
O'er mounds and rocks it raved and roared,
Dashed in blind fury where it broke
In showery spray and wavy smoke;
And now, sad vestige of its wrath,
Alone was left its wasted path.
Stark thro' the dismal fens they lie,
Or on the felon gibbet high
Their mangled members hung proclaim
Their constancy-their conquerors' shame.
Ah! happier they, who in the strife
For freedom fell, than o'er the main,
Those who in slavery's galling chain
Still bore the load of hated life,-
Bowed to base tasks their generous pride,
And scourged and broken-hearted died!
The remnant of the conquered band,
Submissive, at the victors' hand,

As for a boon of mercy, crave
A shred of all their Fathers' land,
A transient shelter and a grave.
Or far where boundless lakes expand,
With weary feet the exiles roam,

Until their tawny brethren gave
The persecuted race a home.'

The description of the spot in which Philip assembles his council, has much descriptive beauty; and it concludes with an exceedingly happy poetical conception. pp. 21, 22.

"Toilworn and few and doubtful met

The PANIESE in their council sate.
High rose the cliffs; but proud above
The regal oaks their branches fling,
Arching aloft with verdant cove,
Where thick their leaves they interwove,
Fit canopy for woodland king.

Vines, with tenacious fibres, high
Clomb o'er those rocks luxuriantly;
Oft o'er their rugged masses gray,
With rustling breeze the wild flowers play;
While at the base their purple hues,
Impearled with morning's glittering dews,
Bloomed round the pile of rifted stone,
Which, as in semblance of a throne,
The hand of Nature there had placed;
And rambling wild, where lower still
Bubbled and welled a sparkling rill,
These simple flowers its margin graced.
Clear as the brightest steel to view,
Thro' mossy turf of greenest hue,
Its lymph that gushing fountain spread :-
And still though ages since have sped,
That little spring is seen;

It bears his name whose deeds of dread
Disturbed its margin green;

As pure, as full, its waters rise,

While those who once its peace profaned,
Have past, and to the stranger's eyes

Nor trace nor memory hath remained.'

The three succeeding passages have a felicity of colouring, which could be attained by none who had not looked round on Nature with the eye which Nature bestows only on a poet.' The first is a description of a bright summer morning, with which the poem opens. pp. 7-10.

The morning air was freshly breathing,

The morning mists were wildly wreathing;
Day's earliest beams were kindling o'er

The wood-crowned hills and murmuring shore.
'Twas summer; and the forests threw
Their chequered shapes of varying hue,
In mingling, changeful shadows seen,
O'er hill and bank, and headland green.
Blithe birds were carolling on high
Their matin music to the sky,

As glanced their brilliant hues along,
Filling the groves with life and song;
All innocent and wild and free
Their sweet, ethereal minstrelsy.
The dew drop sparkled on the spray,
Danced on the wave the inconstant ray;
And moody grief, with dark control,
There only swayed the human soul!

With equal swell, above the flood,
The forest-cinctured mountain stood;
Its eastward cliffs, a rampart wild-
Rock above rock sublimely piled.
What scenes of beauty met his eye,
The watchful sentinel on high!
With all its isles and inlets lay
Beneath, the calm, majestic bay;
Like molten gold, all glittering spread,
Where the clear sun his influence shed :
In wreathy, crisped brilliance borne,
While laughed the radiance of the morn.
Round rocks, that from the headlands far
Their barriers reared, with murmuring war,
The chafing stream, in eddying play,
Fretted and dashed its foamy spray;
Along the shelving sands its swell
With hushed and equal cadence fell;
And here, beneath the whispering grove,
Ran rippling in the shadowy cove.
Thy thickets with their liveliest hue,
Aquetnet green! were fair to view;
Far curved the winding shore, where rose
Pocasset's hills in calm repose;
Or where descending rivers gave
Their tribute to the ampler wave.
Emerging frequent from the tide,
Scarce noticed mid its waters wide,
Lay flushed with morning's roseate smile,
The gay bank of some little isle;
Where the lone heron plumed his wing,
Or spread it as in act to spring,

Yet paused, as if delight it

gave

To bend above the glorious wave.

Where northward spread the unbounded scene,
Oft, in the valley's bosom green,

The hamlets' mouldering ruins showed,
Where war with dæmon brand had strode.
By prostrate hedge and fence o'erthrown,
And fields by blackening hillocks known,
And leafless tree, and scattered stone,
The midnight murderer's work was shown.
Oft melting in the distant view
The cot sent up its incense blue,
VOL. II.

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