o example
of English hexameters. It was universally conceded that the temper of
our language was unfriendly to them.

It remained for a man of true poetic genius to make them not only
tolerated, but popular. Longfellow's translation of "The Children of the
Lord's Supper" may have softened prejudice somewhat, but "Evangeline"
(1847), though encumbered with too many descriptive irrelevancies, was
so full of beauty, pathos, and melody, that it made converts by
thousands to the hitherto ridiculed measure. More than this, it made
Longfellow at once the most popular of contemporary English poets.
Clough's "Bothie"--poem whose singular merit has hitherto failed of the
wide appreciation it deserves--followed not long after; and Kingsley's
"Andromeda" is yet damp from the press.

While we acknowledge that the victory thus won by "Evangeline" is a
striking proof of the genius of the author, we confess that we have
never been able to overcome the feeling that the new metre is a
dangerous and deceitful one. It is too easy to write, and too uniform
for true pleasure in reading. Its ease sometimes leads Mr. Longfellow
into prose,--as in the verse

Combed and wattled gules and all the rest of the blazon,

and into a prosaic phraseology which has now and then infected his style
in other metres, as where he says

Spectral gleam their snow-white _dresses_,

using a word as essentially unpoetic as "surtout or pea-jacket." We
think one great danger of the hexameter is, that it gradually accustoms
the poet to be content with a certain regular recurrence of accented
sounds, to the neglect of the poetic value of language and intensity of
phrase.

But while we frankly avow our infidelity as regards the metre, we as
frankly confess our admiration of the high qualities of "Miles
Standish." In construction we think it superior to "Evangeline"; the
narrative is more straightforward, and the characters are defined with a
firmer touch. It is a poem of wonderful picturesqueness, tenderness, and
simplicity, and the situations are all conceived with the truest
artistic feeling. Nothing can be better, to our thinking, than the
picture of Standish and Alden in the opening scene, tinged as it is with
a delicate humor, which the contrast between the thoughts and characters
of the two heightens almost to pathos. The pictures of Priscilla
spinning, and the bridal procession, are also masterly. We feel charmed
to see such exquisite imaginations c