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scarlet jackets. But who would term this either agriculture or gardening?

Mysticism in law is quibbling; mysticism in religion is the jugglery of priesteraft; mysticism in medicine is quackery-and these often serve their crooked purposes well. But mysticism in poetry can have no attainable triumph. The sole purpose of poetry is to delight and instruct, and no one can be either pleased or profited by what is unintelligible. It would be as just to call stones and mortar, slates and timber, a mansion; or to call colors and canvas a picture, as to call mystical effervescences poetry. Poems are poetical materials artistically elaborated; and if so, the productions of this school, from Emerson to Browning, cannot be allowed to rank higher than rhapsodical effusions. It is necessary for a poet to think, to feel, and to fancy; but it is also necessary for him to assimilate and combine-processes which the pupils of this transcendental academy seem indeed to wish understood either that they totally overlook, or affect to undervalue as worthless. Resultsproducts conclusions not ratiocinations are expected from the poet. "His heart leaps up when he beholds a rainbow in the sky;" but the laws of refraction producing this emotion he leaves to be dealt with as a fit subject for science. It is the province of the poet to describe the western sunset sky "dying like a dolphin" in its changeful hues, not the optical why and wherefore of twilight. In short, his business is with enunciations, not with syllogisms. The poet springs to conclusions not by the logic of science, but by intuition; and whosoever, as a poet, acts either the chemist, the naturalist, or the metaphysician, mistakes the object of his specific mission. Philosophy and poetry may, in most things, not be incompatible; but they are essentially distinct. Metaphysical analyses cannot be accepted as substitutes either for apostrophes to the beautiful, or for utterances of passion. I hold them to be as different from these as principles are from products, or as causes from effects.

THOMAS MOORE, 1779-1852.

THOMAS MOORE, the son of a respectable tradesman of Dublin, was born in that city on the 28th of May, 1779. After the usual preparatory course of study, he entered Trinity College, in his native city, where he graduated in November, 1799. He then went to England, and became a student in the Middle Temple: but, though ultimately called to the bar, he gave up his time chiefly to literary pursuits. In 1800, he published his translation of the "Odes of Anacreon," which

were received with great favor, and elicited from the Hon. Henry Erskine the following complimentary impromptu :

"Ah! mourn not for Anacreon dead

Ah! weep not for Anacreon fled-
The lyre still breathes he touch'd before,
For we have one Anacreon Moore.”

Soon after this he published his miscellaneous poems, under the title of "The Poetical Works of the late Thomas Little," a volume which was censured, and censured severely, for its licentiousness, and of which the author, many years afterwards, was heartily ashamed. In 1806 he visited our country, and published, shortly after his return to England, his remarks on American society and manners, in a volume entitled "Epistles, Odes, and other Poems," which was reviewed with great and deserved severity in the "Edinburgh Review," by Mr. Jeffrey.1

In 1812 appeared his celebrated "Intercepted Letters, or The Two-Penny PostBag, by Thomas Brown the Younger." This was followed by the "Fudge Family in Paris," and "Fables for the Holy Alliance,"-all satires upon the passing topics of the day; but-though evincing great wit, and a rich playful fancy, and for the time extremely popular-all destined to pass away and be forgotten. But not so his "Irish Songs and Melodies," and his "Hebrew Melodies," which display a depth of fervor, a richness of fancy, and a touching pathos, united to exquisite beauty and polish of versification, that will cause them to be read and admired as long as the English language endures.

In 1817 appeared his most elaborate poem, "Lalla Rookh," an oriental romance-the accuracy of which, as regards topographical, antiquarian, and characteristic details, has been vouched for by numerous competent authorities; and which unites the purest and softest tenderness with the loftiest dignity, while its poetry is brilliant and gorgeous-rich to excess with imagery and ornamentand oppressive from its very sweetness and splendor. The genius of the poet moves with grace and freedom under his load of eastern magnificence, and the reader is fascinated by his prolific fancy, and the scenes of loveliness and splendor which are depicted with such vividness and truth. In 1823 came out "The Loves of the Angels," which contains many passages of great beauty, but, as a whole, inferior to his former productions. The poem is founded on "the Eastern story of the angels Harut and Marut, and the Rabbinical fictions of the lives of Uzziel and Shamchazai," with which Moore shadowed out "the fall of the soul from its original purity-the loss of light and happiness which it suffers in the pursuit of this world's perishable pleasures-and the punishments, both from conscience and Divine justice, with which impurity, pride, and presumptuous inquiry into the awful secrets of Heaven, are sure to be visited."

In 1825 was published his "Life of Sheridan," which, "with some omissions, and perhaps a few mistakes, some little faults of style, and some precipitate

"The author may boast, if the boast can please him, of being the most licentious of modern versifiers, and the most poetical of those who, in our times, have devoted their talents to the propagation of immorality. We regard this book, indeed, as a public nuisance, and would willingly trample it down by one short movement of contempt and indignation, had we not reason to apprehend that it was abetted by patrons who are entitled to a more re spectful remonstrance, and by admirers who may require a more extended exposition of their dangers."-Edinburgh Review, viii. 456.

opinions, we do not hesitate to characterize as the best historical notice yet published of the events of our own times. Without pretending to give-what this generation can scarcely yet need-a particular or connected detail of the transactions to which it refers, it exhibits the clearest and most intelligent account of all the great questions which were agitated during that momentous period-the best estimate of the great events by which it was distinguished-and not only the ablest exposition of the causes which led to them, and the principles they served either to establish or expose, but the most truly impartial, temperate, and dispassionate view of the merits of the individuals concerned in them-the actual value of their services and amount of their offendings, with the excuses which the times or circumstances should suggest for them, that we ever recollect to have met with in the difficult and dangerous department of contemporary history."

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In 1830 appeared his "Life of Byron," in two volumes, by which, it has been well said, "neither the reputation of the author was advanced, nor the character of Lord Byron vindicated." In addition to these works, he is the author of "Corruption and Intolerance, a Poem;" "The Skeptic, a Philosophical Satire;" "Rhymes on the Road;" The Epicurean, a Tale;" and "The Life of Captain Rock." He has also written a number of miscellaneous pieces, both in prose and verse, which have been inserted in various periodical journals, and a large number of beautiful songs, which have become permanently popular.

No English poet of the present century has displayed a greater command of rich language and luxurious imagery than Thomas Moore; but, with the excep tion of his "Sacred Melodies" and a portion of "Lalla Rookh," we shall find but little elevated moral feeling, or wise and manly reflections. It has been well said, that he has "worked little in the durable and permanent materials of poetry, but has spent his prime in enriching the stately structure with exquisite ornaments, foliage, flowers, and gems. He has preferred the myrtle to the olive or the oak. His longer poems want human interest. Tenderness and pathos he undoubtedly possesses; but they are fleeting and evanescent-not embodied in his verse in any tale of melancholy grandeur, or strain of affecting morality or sentiment." His most finished performances are to be found in " Lalla Rookh;" some portions of the "Fire Worshippers" have scarcely been surpassed; and the character of Mokanna, in the "Veiled Prophet of Khorassan," is a "sublime conception sublimely executed."

For the last three years Moore's life had been a long disease, not attended with either bodily or mental suffering, but from a gradual softening of the brain, and a reduction of the mind to a state of childishness. He died at Sloperton Cottage, near Devizes, (Wiltshire,) on the 26th of February, 1852.


One morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood disconsolate;
And as she listen'd to the Springs

Of Life within, like music flowing,

And caught the light upon her wings
Through the half-open'd portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race
Should e'er have lost that glorious place!
"How happy," exclaim'd this child of air,
"Are the holy spirits who wander there,

Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall:
Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea,
And the stars themselves have flowers for me,
One blossom of Heaven outblooms them all!
"Though sunny the lake of cool Cashmere,
With its plane-tree isles reflected clear,'

And sweetly the founts of that valley fall;
Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-hay,
And the golden floods that thitherward stray,"
Yet-oh! 'tis only the blest can say

How the waters of Heaven outshine them all!

"Go wing thy flight from star to star,
From world to luminous world, as far

As the universe spreads its flaming wall;
Take all the pleasures of all the spheres,
And multiply each through endless years,
One minute of Heaven is worth them all!"

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Now, upon Syria's land of roses 3
Softly the light of eve reposes,
And, like a glory, the broad sun
Hangs over sainted Lebanon;


Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,
And whitens with eternal sleet,
While summer, in a vale of flowers,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet.

To one who look'd from upper air
O'er all the enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
Of golden melons on their banks,
More golden where the sunlight falls;
Gay lizards, glittering on the walls'
Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright,
As they were all alive with light;-
And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks,

1 "Numerous small islands emerge from the Lake of Cashmere. One is called Char Chenaur, from the plane-trees upon it."-FORSTER.

"The Altan Kol, or Golden River of Thibet, which runs into the Lakes of Sing-su-hay, has abundance of gold in its sands, which employs the inhabitants all summer in gathering it."-Description of Thibet in Pinkerton.

Richardson thinks that Syria had its name from Suri, a beautiful and delicate species of rose for which that country has been always famous; hence, Suristan, the Land of Roses. "The number of lizards I saw one day in the great court of the Temple of the Sun, at Balbec, amounted to many thousands; the ground, the walls, and stones of the ruined buildings were covered with them."-BRUCE.

With their rich restless wings, that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam

Of the warm west-as if inlaid
With brilliants from the mine, or made
Of tearless rainbows, such as span
The unclouded skies of Peristan.
And then, the mingling sounds that come,
Of shepherd's ancient reed,' with hum
Of the wild bees of Palestine,

Banqueting through the flowery vales;—
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine,
And woods so full of nightingales!

But naught can charm the luckless Peri;
Her soul is sad-her wings are weary-
Joyless she sees the sun look down
On that great temple, once his own,"
Whose lonely columns stand sublime,
Flinging their shadows from on high,
Like dials, which the wizard, Time,

Had raised to count his ages by!

Yet haply there may lie conceal'd
Beneath those Chambers of the Sun,
Some amulet of gems anneal'd
In upper fires, some tabret seal'd

With the great name of Solomon,
Which, spell'd by her illumined eyes,
May teach her where, beneath the moon,
In earth or ocean lies the boon,

The charm that can restore so soon

An erring spirit to the skies!

Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither;-
Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven,
Nor have the golden bowers of even
In the rich west begun to wither;-
When, o'er the vale of Balbec, winging
Slowly, she sees a child at play,
Among the rosy wild-flowers singing,
As rosy and as wild as they;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel-flies,3
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers or flying gems;-
And, near the boy, who, tired with play,
Now nestling, 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount
From his hot steed, and on the brink
Of a small imaret's rustic fount
Impatient fling him down to drink.

"The Syrinx, or Pan's pipe, is still a pastoral instrument in Syria."-RUSSEL.

2 The Temple of the Sun, at Balbec.

a "You behold there a considerable number of a remarkable species of beautiful insects, the

poms of Damsels."

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