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Because with her I stand

Upright as far as can be in the fall,

And look away from heaven, which doth accuse me,
And look up from the earth which doth convict me,
Into her face; and crown my discrowned brow,
Out of her love; and put the thoughts of her

Around me for an Eden full of birds;
And lift her body up-thus-to my heart;

And with my lips upon her lips thus, thus

Do quicken and sublimate my mortal breath,

Which cannot climb against the grave's steep sides,
But overtops this grief. . .

The essence of all beauty I call love,
The attribute, the evidence and end,
The consummation to the inward sense
Of beauty apprehended from without
I still call love.

....

....

Mother of the world,
Take heart before His presence. Rise, aspire
Unto the calms and magnanimities,
The lofty uses and the noble ends,
The sanctified devotion and full work,
To which thou art elect forevermore,
First woman, wife and mother!

DRAKE.

FINE Social qualities are not so generally esteemed in this country as beyond the sea. Leisure is requisite for their exercise and enjoyment, and the vast majority of Americans are so busy, that a late traveller complains he could seldom find an opportunity to converse among them. The stranger doubtless used the phrase in its highest signification. Madame de Stael says, that the only legitimate subjects of conversation are those of universal interest. There are few readier methods whereby the mind can be set free from egotistical annoyances and narrow cares, than by such high and liberal communion. Genius is not restricted to the use of mechanical implements. The pen and the easel are not the only means by which gifted spirits impress us. The world is singularly unjust in its estimate of mental activity and usefulness. "Why should I be always writing?" asked Dr. Johnson, and who doubts now, that his talk was more efficient than his pen-craft? The auditors of Coleridge, who were capable of appreciating his eloquence, never complain that he produced so little; and those whose privilege it was to listen to the fluent wisdom of Allston, felt most deeply that he was not born merely to transfer his conceptions to canvass. The social powers and sympathies are a constituent element of genius. Quickened and warmed by their affections, the poet and artist are unconscious of labour. It is the aimless and lonely

It

efforts of the recluse, that bear the stamp of constraint. We can imagine what a work of love it was for the old masters to portray the beings to whom they were attached; and these are their fairest trophies. Petrarch's heavy epic is neglected, but the sonnets which were the genial overflowings of his enamoured heart are immortal. Are not the fresh, strong traits of the old English drama, somewhat owing to the mutual labours of their authors? Had not the pleasant gatherings at Wills' and Button's, considerable influence in producing the early British essayists? In truth, the social relations of genius form its best nursery and home. The attrition of mind with mind; the frank and kindly interchange of feeling, and the cheering ministrations of friendship, throw an atmos phere around the sensitive and ardent mind, in which its sweetest flowers bloom, and its best fruits mature. was to please Lady Hesketh, that Cowper wrote the Task. There is no inspiration like love and friendship. The image of an endeared being is more encouraging to the child of song than any vision of ambition. "How hollow," exclaims Mrs. Hemans, in one of her letters, "how hollow seems the voice of Fame to an orphan !" There is something, too, that frequently chills all glow of thought in the very idea of the public. Compare the spontaneous letter with the long considered article; the versatile chat, full of individuality, with the monotonous dissertation so very scholar-like in style as to be attributed with equal reason, to fifty different writers. There is a certain etiquette, which every gentleman observes in a promiscuous assembly, that often effectually conceals his most interesting points of character, and identifies him with the multitude. A similar rule obtains in literature. To address the great mass with whom we have no intimate association, often seems a presumptuous or hopeless effort, and veneration for the

select yet equally unknown few, will daunt or formalize endeavour. But it is not a wearisome task to charm minds with whose tastes we are intimate, to enliven hearts that are devoted to our welfare, to delight a circle with which we are allied by the ties of old acquaintance and warm regard. One of our poets has written :

"Friends my soul with joy remembers,

How like quivering flames they start,
When I fan the living embers

On the hearth-stone of my heart.”

Drake was an interesting example of the fostering influence of happy associations. Without these it may be doubted if he would ever have become known to fame. His was one of those gentle natures that, from a divine instinct, concentrate their sources of happiness. He had no faith in that coarser philosophy which stakes life's dearest hopes on the broad arena of the world. Familiar with the true inheritors of literary glory, he never could mistake temporary reputation for enduring fame. His taste was too refined, and his standard of excellence too exalted, to permit him to feel any complacency in regard to his own effusions. To domestic and social pleasures he looked for enjoyment, and poetry was chiefly valued as imparting to these new grace and sprightliness. It was only by degrees that the inquisitive public discovered in Drake the author of those spirited local poems, which, under the signature of Croaker, imparted such attraction to the newspapers of the day. Indeed, the truth was revealed, as the secrets of more lucrative trades often are, by the hazardous experiment of taking a partner. It was soon discovered that the mysterious "Co." was no other than Halleck, and thence his friend's agency was easily inferred. This modest spirit was equally manifested by the poet during his last illness, when he exhibited perfect indifference as to the fate of his writings, and

obviously held them in very light estimation. The Culprit Fay for a long period only existed in manuscript, and was not printed until several years after the author's death. Indeed, he infinitely preferred love to admiration. The society and affection of his friends, was too precious to be weighed in the balance with renown. His brief career was devoted to his profession and the care of his family; and his recreations sought in literature and the companionship of a few kindred minds. When he returned from Louisiana in his twenty-sixth year, and found the disease on account of which he had made the voyage, wholly unalleviated, he became more than ever devoted, until his decease, which soon occurred, to these familiar and cherished resources. Drake's character must have been peculiarly endearing. His mental gifts alone would excite strong interest, but unallied, as they seem to have been, with ambition, how greatly their attraction was enhanced! Talent, which is absolutely given to personal objects, claims no suffrages from the heart; but the man of superior gifts, who voluntarily offers them at the altar of disinterested affection, cannot but win permanent and deep regard. Accordingly, the author of the Culprit Fay, young as he was, left a memory consecrated by the most tender regret. His cultivated taste gave an uncommon value to his literary opinions; his graceful humour threw a rare charm around the fireside, and his beautiful imagination hallowed the scenes of nature. Halleck's tribute is eloEarnest indeed, must

quent from its very simplicity.

have been the grief which thus silenced a harp so often struck in unison with that of the departed:

"Where hearts, whose truth is proven,

Like thine, are laid in earth,

There should a wreath be woven
To tell the wild their worth.

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