onal poets.
Possessed of a vigorous conception, a lofty fancy, intense energy of
feeling, and remarkable powers of versification, his poetry is
everywhere impressed with the most decided indications of genius. He has
chosen the grandest subjects, which he has adorned with the richest
illustration, and an imagery copious and sublime. Had he occupied his
Muse with themes less exalted, he might have enjoyed a wider temporary
popularity; as it is, his poems will find admirers in future times.

RISE, MY LOVE.

Rise, my love! the moon, unclouded,
Wanders o'er the dark blue sea;
Sleep the tyrant's eye has shrouded,
Hynda comes to set thee free!
Leave those vaults of pain and sorrow,
On the long and dreaming deep;
A bower will greet us ere to-morrow,
Where our eyes may cease to weep.

Oh! some little isle of gladness,
Smiling in the waters clear,
Where the dreary tone of sadness
Never smote the lonely ear--
Soon will greet us, and deliver
Souls so true, to freedom's plan;
Death may sunder us, but never
Tyrant's threats, nor fetters can.

Then our lute's exulting numbers,
Unrestrain'd will wander on,
While the night has seal'd in slumbers,
Fair creation, all her own.
And we'll wed, while music stealeth
Through the starry fields above,
While each bounding spirit feeleth
All the luxury of love.

Then we'll scorn oppression's minions,
All the despot's bolts and powers;
While Time wreathes his heavy pinions
With love's brightest passion-flowers.
Rise, then! let us fly together,
Now the moon laughs on the sea;
East or west, I care not whither,
When with love and liberty!

JULIA.

Born where the glorious star-lights trace
In mountain snows their silver face,
Where Nature, vast and rude,
Looks as if by her God design'd
To fill the bright eternal mind,
With her fair magnitude.

Hers was a face, to which was given
Less portion of the earth than heaven,
As if each trait had stole
Its hue from Nature's shapes of light;
As if stars, flowers, and all things bright
Had join'd to form her soul.

Her heart was young--she loved to breathe
The air which spins the mountain's wreath,
To wander o'er the wild,
To list the music of the deep,
To see the round stars on it sl