The following verse was added by the Author on a late occasion, when the toast of the "Highland Regiments, the Defenders of our Country," was given him to propose:— But lift your cheer, and pledge with me Then set aside the lesser cup, And pledge the Highland Regiments all, The men of dauntless soul, The men of patriot soul! SONG OF TRIUMPH, ON FIRST HEARING OF THE VICTORY WHICH CROWNED THE BRITISH ARMS AT INKERMAN. NEWS, news, from the Crimea, Old Neptune wafts Britannia- The cannon peal their thunder, While we quaff to the host that quells But a moan, too, o'er the wave The grief all unavailing For the well-beloved one! Then sink in grief the song, Yet, let's dry each bitter tear, Hark, a gentle voice in air Whispers, "Weep no more for me; Britain's freedom be your care; Give another one for me." Then raise again the song, THE BATTLE OF INKERMAN. UPON the heights of Inkerman The Russ stole up through fog and rain Not here, or there, but everywhere They dream'd to throttle in surprise, But fierce he stood with kindled eyes The British Lion struck them dead And vengeful shook his mane. For every pool of British blood Roll'd back from Inkerman. News, news for the Czar Nicholas, In his own blood the avenging hand Thoughts and Sentiments. NEWTON AND THE APPLE. WE have often, when in a lively humour, wondered if Newton ate the apple which suggested his sublime discovery. It would seem to have fallen ripe with age; and may we not, without irreverence, imagine him poising in his hand the tiny figure of a world, and musing in abstract mood on the cause which brought it to the earth, taking out his knife -with all his philosopher coolness, paring off its spherical coat and grate fully mounching it; thus, like a man of sense, giving his body the advantage of the accident which had fed his mind with such a godlike growth of thought. Newton and Eve are both alike in this Their apples caused great Nature's face to change. THAT OUR DESIRES ARE A SPUR TO OUR INDUSTRY; OR IN the dull tread-wheel of our daily labour, Of that which keeps this populous world astir, Of dangling corn, to strive for, but ne'er reach, LAUGHTER DISTINCTIVE OF MAN ALONE. MAN is the only animal that laughs, GOLD (The tempter shaking his money-bags.) GENIUS. WHY, what is Genius but the thirst divine, LOVE. LOVE is that beam Of sunshine on our shady hill of life VIRTUE. TRUTH, Honour, Justice, Mercy, are the gems— MERIT. MERIT respect and honour, though it stands THE LEGISLATOR AND WARRIOR. To conquer in the battlefield is glorious; A PROUD MAN IN ADVERSITY DESCRIBED. HE may be humbled, but he is not humble; Reviews. THE MYSTIC.* To define poetry is as difficult as to define beauty, and in fact to frame a simple definition that might include all that is styled poetry, would be difficult indeed. Perhaps we cannot define it otherwise than poetically-the "giving to airy nothing a local habitation and a name." But, remember, these poetical airy nothings are substantial thoughts, if they are not substantial things. Our castles in the air are at least built after the fashion of our castles on the earth. Works of fiction are modelled after those of truth-at least they must never pass the boundary of truth;-and yet the poetry of man is airy nothing contrasted with the poetry of Nature-mere idols of the imagination when contrasted with the sublime ideas of God; and he is the greatest poet who has capacity to discern and power to give expression to those ideas bodied forth in Nature. The breeze sweeping over a landscape-is it not missioned to stir the heart as well as the dancing leaves? Yes, let us open the heart to every influence of Nature, and she shall thrill us with emotions to which we have only to give a musical utterance. But your true poet, some will say, though he receives his materials from Nature, moulds them anew into plastic creations of his own. A poet truly, but not of so high a rank as the poet-priest of Nature, who alone may lay claim to true poetic inspiration. It is a darling sin of man to worship the workmanship of his own hands. This is but a falling short of the capacity and power of our nature; for, assuredly, if we seck, we shall find objects of poetical worship around us, and need not elaborate them from the conceits of our own imagination. A beautiful thing, beautifully conceived, and beautifully expressed, might be made the definition of poetry. This, however, goes no farther than the production of poetic thought. Their elaboration into consistent and appropriate forms constitutes poetic art. As Nature is the standard of true poetic "The Mystic and other Poems." By Philip James Bailey, author of "Festus." Second Edition. London: Chapman and Hall. 1855. thought, so is it of true poetic art. Need we define Nature? Has not the Creator defined it in our consciousness? But Nature, which we make our standard, because it is the great lesson-book given us to peruse, is but the medium of inspiration-the concrete form of the absolute ideas of God-the means whereby the Being whose attributes are goodness, truth, and beauty, rouses in the souls that have emanated from Him, and bear His image, the universal, necessary, and eternal ideas that are to form intelligence for the life hereafter. Nature, embracing its noblest part-humanity—is the poet's exhaustless store for his beautiful themes. With a keen intelligence and a feeling heart he proclaims the true, the good, the beautiful, revealed in both. But humanity is especially his theme, for its destiny is the consummation of all earthly things. From the hill top to which he has climbed he sees the breaking dawn sooner than those below in the valley-can he do otherwise than hail it in a joyful strain? he looks down upon the darkness below-can he do otherwise than lament? They might all have climbed to the same height, but they would not. Henceforth he mingles with them only to scourge vice out of the temple of their heart, and fire their bosom with the virtuous hopes that burn in his own. There are those certainly that sing to degrade, or simply to amuse; but with them we have nothing to do, unless in the way of warning. The poet's hallowed fire ought to purify alone. First, then, of poetry in its nature. Our highest department is truth beautifully conceived and beautifully expressed, such as The quality of mercy is not strained— It droppeth as the gentle dews from heaven And earthly power doth then show likest God's Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render Here the The thought is beautiful, sublime in itself, which is all the more appreciable that it is most beautifully expressed. reason grasps and expresses the thought through the imagination; whereas in the other kind, the imagination, or as we often call its lighter play, the fancy, conceives or creates, and makes reason subservient. Examples of the latter may be abundantly found among the Italian minor poets. We shall translate, for illustration, from Metastasio: |