Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore. 'Tis the wind, and nothing more.' Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, ti ou,' I said, art sure no craven. Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shoreTell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the Raven: Nevermore.' Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, With such a name as Nevermore.'. But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, Of" Never-never more." But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing She shall press, ah, never more! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Quoth the Raven: 'Never more!' 'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil!-prophet still if bird or devil! 'Prophet!' said I, thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil! Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting- And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. The father of the present generation of American poets, and one of the most original of the brotherhood, is WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, born at Cummington, Hampshire County, Massachusetts, November 3, 1794. With a precocity rivalling that of Cowley or Chatterton, Bryant at the age of thirteen wrote a satirical poem on the Jeffersonian party, which was published in 1808 under the title of The Embargo.' A few lines from this piece will shew how well the boy-poet had mastered the art of versification: E'en while I sing, see Faction urge her claim, And sues successful for each blockhead's vote. From this perilous course of political versifying, the young author was removed by being placed at Williams College. He was admitted to the bar, and practised for several years with fair success; but in 1825.. he removed to New York, and entered upon that literary life which he has ever since followed. In 1826 Mr. Bryant became editor of the New York Evening Post.' and his connection with that journal still subsists. His poetical works consist of Thanatopsis '— an exquisite solemn strain of blank verse, first published in 1816; 'The Ages, a survey of the experience of mankind, 1828; and various pieces scattered through periodical works. Mr. Washington Irving, struck with the beauty of Bryant's poetry, had it collected and published in London in 1832. The British public, he said, had expressed its delight at the graphic descriptions of American scenery and wild woodland characters contained in the works of Cooper. The same keen eye and just feeling for nature,' he added, 'the same indigenous style of thinking and local peculiarity of imagery, which give such novelty and interest to the pages of that gifted writer, will be found to characterise this volume, condensed into a narrower compass, and sublimated into poetry.' 6 From this opinion Professor Wilson-who reviewed the volume in 'Blackwood's Magazine'-dissented, believing that Cooper's pictures are infinitely richer in local peculiarity of imagery and thought. The chief charm of Bryant's genius,' he considered, consists in a tender pensiveness, a moral melancholy, breathing over all his contemplations, dreams, and reveries, even such as in the main are glad, and giving assurance of a pure spirit, benevolent to all living creatures, and habitually pious in the felt omnipresence of the Creator. His poetry overflows with natural religion-with what Wordsworth calls the religion of the woods.' This is strictly applicable to the 'Thanatopsis and Forest Hymn;' but Washington Irving is so far right that Bryant's grand merit is his nationality and his power of painting the American landscape, especially in its wild, solitary, and magnificent forms. His diction is pure and lucid, with scarcely a flaw, and he is master of blank verse. Mr. Bryant has translated the 'Iliad' and 'Odyssey,' 4 vols. (Boston, 1870-1872.) From Thanatopsis.' Not to thy eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thon wish In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man! The golden sun, And millions in those solitudes, since first Take note of thy departure! All that breathe The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes So live, that when thy summons comes to join To that mysterious realm, where each shall take Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed The Wind-flower. Lodged in sunny cleft Gather him to his grave again, And solemnly and softly lay, Beneath the verdure of the plain, The warrior's scattered bones away. Pay the deep reverence, taught of old, The homage of man's heart to death; Nor dare to trifle with the mould Once hallowed by the Almighty's breath. The soul hath quickened every part- NOW. Spare them, each mouldering relic spare, Of God's own image; let them rest, Till not a trace shall speak of where The awful likeness was impressed. For he was fresher from the Hand In nearer kindred than our race. But met them, and defied their wrath. Then they were kind-the forests here, Of the red ruler of the shade. A noble race! But they are gone, With their old forests wide and deep, And we have built our homes upon Fields where their generations sleep. Their fountains slake our thirst at noon, Upon their fields our harvest waves, That formed of earth the human face, Our lovers woo beneath their moonAnd to the elements did stand Ah! let us spare at least their graves! An Indian at the Burying-place of his Fathers. It is the spot I came to seek My fathers' ancient burial-place, It is the spot-I know it well- For here the upland bank sends out The meadows smooth and wide; A white man, gazing on the scene, Would say a lovely spot was here, I like it not-I would the plain The sheep are on the slopes around, And prancing steeds, in trappings gay, Methinks it were a nobler sight To see these vales in woods arrayed, And then to mark the lord of all, The forest hero, trained to wars, And the gray chief and gifted seer The weapons of his rest; Ah, little thought the strong and brave, That the pale race, who waste us now, They waste us-ay, like April snow In the warm noon, we shrink away; And fast they follow, as we go Toward the setting day Till they shall fill the land, and we But I behold a fearful sign, To which the white man's eyes are Their race may vanish hence, like mine, Save ruins o'er the region spread, Before these fields were shorn and tilled, The fresh and boundless wood: Quivered and plumed, and lithe and tall, And torrents dashed, and rivulets played, And seamed with glorious scars, This bank. in which the dead were laid, Brought wreaths of beads and flowers, And fountains spouted in the shade. Those grateful sounds are heard no . more: The springs are silent in the sun; With lessening current run; R. H. DANA-N. P. WILLIS-O. W. HOLMES. RICHARD HENRY DANA (born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1787) was author of a small volume, 'The Buccaneer, and other Poems' (1827), which was hailed as an original and powerful contribution to American literature. He had previously published The Dying Raven,' a poem (1825), and contributed essays to a periodical work. "The Buccaneer' is founded on a tradition of a murder committed on an island on the coast of New England by a |