od aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder:
A dreary sea now flows between,
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away I ween
The marks of that which once hath been.

Sir Leoline a moment's space
Stood gazing on the damsel's face;
And the youthful lord of Tryermaine
Came back upon his heart again."

It might seem insidious if I were to praise his ode entitled Fire,
Famine, and Slaughter, as an effusion of high poetical enthusiasm, and
strong political feeling. His Sonnet to Schiller conveys a fine
compliment to the author of the Robbers, and an equally fine idea of the
state of youthful enthusiasm in which he composed it.

"Schiller! that hour I would have wish'd to die,
If through the shudd'ring midnight I had sent
From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent,
That fearful voice, a famish'd father's cry--

That in no after moment aught less vast
Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout
Black Horror scream'd, and all her goblin rout
From the more with'ring scene diminish'd pass'd.

Ah! Bard tremendous in sublimity!
Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood,
Wand'ring at eve, with finely frenzied eye,
Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood!
Awhile, with mute awe gazing, I would brood,
Then weep aloud in a wild ecstacy!"--

His _Conciones ad Populum_, Watchman, &c. are dreary trash. Of his
Friend, I have spoken the truth elsewhere. But I may say of him here,
that he is the only person I ever knew who answered to the idea of a man
of genius. He is the only person from whom I ever learnt any thing.
There is only one thing he could learn from me in return, but _that_ he
has not. He was the first poet I ever knew. His genius at that time had
angelic wings, and fed on manna. He talked on for ever; and you wished
him to talk on for ever. His thoughts did not seem to come with labour
and effort; but as if borne on the gusts of genius, and as if the wings
of his imagination lifted him from off his feet. His voice rolled on the
ear like the pealing organ, and its sound alone was the music of
thought. His mind was clothed with wings; and raised on them, he lifted
philosophy to heaven. In his descriptions, you then saw the progress of
human happiness and liberty in bright and never-ending succession, like
t