I chose thee, EASE! and Wealth withdrew, My scorn with tenfold scorn repaid. Are comforts I must never know: Their souls are abject, base, and low. To mark my train, and pomp, and show: Nor hapless friend of former years, It did but heighten all her charms; I woo'd thee to my longing arms: Its love in faltering accents tell; I chose thee, EASE! and yet to me SPIRIT OF THOUGHT! Lo! art thou here? Thy doom?-the doom of all who fell? Be thy behests or good or ill, No matter what or whence thou art! If thou hast power to yield my heart I know thee, Spirit! thou hast been My dreams-my thoughts-andwhat are they, All! all were thine-and thine between Plunged to the depths of wo and crime, And live, the ETERNAL reigns sublime, And I have sought, with thee have sought, *The Moslem imagine that SOLOMON acquired dominion over all the orders of the genii-good and evil. It is even believed he sometimes condescended to converse with his new subjects. On this supposition he has been represented interrogating a genius, in the very wise, but very disagreeable mood of mind which led to the conclusion that "All is vanity!" Touching the said genius, the author has not been able to discover whether he or she (even the sex is equivocal) was of Allah or Eblis, and, therefore, left the matter where he found it-in discreet doubt. The patriarchs of ages fled- And I have task'd my busy brain To learn what haply none may know, Thy birth, seat, power, thine ample reign O'er the heart's tides that ebb and flow, Throb, languish, whirl, rage, freeze, or glow Like billows of the restless main, Amid the wrecks of joy and wo By ocean's caves preserved in vain. And oft to shadow forth I strove, To my mind's eye, some form like thine, Return'd, but brought, alas! no sign: Thou art indeed, a thing divine; And an angelic look are thine, Ready to seize, compare, combine Essence and form-and yet a trace Of grief and care-a shadowy line Dims thy bright forehead's heavenly grace. Yet thou must be of heavenly birth, Where naught is known of grief and pain; Though I perceive, alas! where earth And earthly things have left their stain: From thine high calling didst thou deign To prove-in folly or in mirth With daughters of the first-born CAIN, How little HUMAN LOVE is worth? Ha! dost thou change before mine eyes! Such as our heart's despair can frame, Like HERS, who from the sea-foam came, And lives but in the heart, or skies. SPIRIT OF CHANGE! I know thee too, By thy cheek's ever-shifting hue, By sighs that burn, and tears that glow False joys-vain hopes-that mock the heart; Saidst thou not once, that all the charms Was all men knew of heaven above? And hint, though won with toil and pain, What is the value of the prize? It too, alas! is VANITY! Then tell me since I've found on earth And in our heart and soul is nursed; Thou speak'st not !-Let me know the worst! Thou pointest!—and it is to HEAVEN! A FAREWELL TO AMERICA.* FAREWELL! my more than fatherland! Home of my heart and friends, adieu ! Lingering beside some foreign strand, How oft shall I remember you! How often, o'er the waters blue, The loving and beloved few, There are some thoughts we utter not, It must be months,-it may be years,— It may-but no!--I will not fill Fond hearts with gloom,-fond eyes with tears, "Curious to shape uncertain ill." Though humble,-few and far,—yet, still Those hearts and eyes are ever dear; Theirs is the love no time can chill, The truth no chance or change can sear! Only endears them more and more; Roam where I will, what I deplore To leave with them and thee behind! *Written on board ship Westminster, at sea, off the Highlands of Neversink, June 1, 1835 NAPOLEON'S GRAVE. FAINT and sad was the moonbeam's smile, As I stood by the side of NAPOLEON's grave. And is it here that the hero lies, Whose name has shaken the earth with dread? And is this all that the earth supplies A stone his pillow-the turf his bed? Is such the moral of human life? Are these the limits of glory's reign? Have oceans of blood, and an age of strife, And a thousand battles been all in vain? Is nothing left of his victories now But legions broken-a sword in rustA crown that cumbers a dotard's brow A name and a requiem-dust to dust? Of all the chieftains whose thrones he rear'd, Was there none that kindness or faith could bind? Of all the monarchs whose crowns he spared, Had none one spark of his Roman mind? Did Prussia cast no repentant glance? Did Austria shed no remorseful tear, When England's truth, and thine honour, France, And thy friendship, Russia, were blasted here? No holy leagues, like the heathen heaven, Ungodlike shrunk from the giant's shock; And glorious TITAN, the unforgiven, Was doom'd to his vulture, and chains, and rock. And who were the gods that decreed thy doom? And a Russian Greek of earth's darkest age. Men call'd thee Despot, and call'd thee true; But the laurel was earn'd that bound thy brow; And of all who wore it, alas! how few Were freer from treason and guilt than thou! Shame to thee, Gaul, and thy faithless horde! Where was the oath which thy soldiers swore? Fraud still lurks in the gown, but the sword Was never so false to its trust before. Where was thy veteran's boast that day, But, no, no, no!-it was Freedom's charm Gave them the courage of more than men ; You broke the spell that twice nerved each arm, Though you were invincible only then. Yet St. Jean was a deep, not a deadly blow; STANZAS. My life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, But ere the shades of evening close, Is scatter'd on the ground-to die! Yet on the rose's humble bed The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept the waste to seeBut none shall weep a tear for me! My life is like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon's pale ray, Its hold is frail-its date is brief, Restless and soon to pass away! Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless tree, But none shall breathe a sigh for me! My life is like the prints, which feet Have left on Tampa's desert strand; Soon as the rising tide shall beat, All trace will vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, TO LORD BYRON. BYRON! 'tis thine alone, on eagles' pinions, Thought, beauty, eloquence, and wisdom storing: O! how I love and envy thee thy glory, To every age and clime alike belonging; Link'd by all tongues with every nation's glory. Thou TACITUS of song! whose echoes, thronging O'er the Atlantic, fill the mountains hoary And forests with the name my verse is wronging. TO THE MOCKING-BIRD. WING'D mimic of the woods! thou motley fool! Pursue thy fellows still with jest and gibe: Wit, sophist, songster, YORICK of thy tribe, Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school; To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe, Arch-mocker and mad Abbot of Misrule! For such thou art by day-but all night long Thou pour'st a soft, sweet, pensive, solemn strain, As if thou didst in this thy moonlight song Like to the melancholy JACQUES complain, Musing on falsehood, folly, vice, and wrong, And sighing for thy motiey coat again. JAMES A. HILLHOUSE. [Born 1789. Died 1841.] THE author of "Hadad" was descended from an ancient and honourable Irish family, in the county of Derry, and his ancestors emigrated to this country and settled in Connecticut in 1720. A high order of intellect seems to have been their right of inheritance, for in every generation we find their name prominent in the political history of the state. The grandfather of the poet, the Honourable WILLIAM HILLHOUSE, was for more than fifty years employed in the public service, as a representative, as a member of the council, and in other offices of trust and honour. His father, the Honourable JAMES HILLHOUSE, who died in 1833, after filling various offices in his native state, and being for three years a member of the House of Representatives, was in 1794 elected to the Senate of the United States, where for sixteen years he acted a leading part in the politics of the country. His wife, the mother of the subject of this sketch, was the daughter of Colonel MELANCTHON WOOLSEY, of Dosoris, Long Island. She was a woman distinguished alike for mental superiority, and for feminine softness, purity, and delicacy of character. Although educated in retirement, and nearly self-taught, her son was accustomed to say, when time had given value to his opinions, that she possessed the most elegant mind he had ever met with; and much of the nice discrimination, and the finer and more delicate elements of his own character, were an inheritance from her. Among the little occasional pieces which he wrote entirely for the family circle, was one composed on visiting her birth-place, after her death, which I have been permitted to make public. As yonder frith, round green Dosoris roll'd, "Thus, though bedimm'd by many a changeful year, "I have fulfill'd her charge,-dear scenes, adieu!- *I am indebted for the materials for this biography to the poet's intimate friend, the Reverend WILLIAM INGRAHAM KIPP, Rector of St. Paul's Church, in Albany, New York, who kindly consented to write out the character of the poet, as he appeared at home, and as none but his associates could know him, for this work. Mr. HILLHOUSE was born in New Haven, on the twenty-sixth of September, 1789. The home of such parents, and the society of the intelligent circle they drew about them, (of which President DWIGHT was the most distinguished ornament,) was well calculated to cherish and cultivate his peculiar tastes. In boyhood he was remarkable for great activity and excellence in all manly and athletic sports, and for a peculiarly gentlemanly deportment. At the age of fifteen he entered Yale College, and in 1808 he was graduated, with high reputation as a scholar. From his first junior exhibition, he had been distinguished for the elegance and good taste of his compositions. Upon taking his second degree, he delivered an oration on "The Education of a Poet," so full of beauty, that it was long and widely remembered, and induced an appointment by the Phi Beta Kappa Society, (not much in the habit of selecting juvenile writers,) to deliver a poem before them at their next anniversary. It was on this occasion that he wrote "The Judgment," which was pronounced before that society at the commencement of 1812. A more difficult theme, or one requiring loftier powers, could not have been selected. The reflecting mind regards this subject in accordance with some preconceived views. That Mr. HILLHOUSE felt this difficulty, is evident from a remark in his preface, that in selecting this theme, he exposes his work to criticism on account of its | theology, as well as its poetry; and they who think the former objectionable, will not easily be pleased with the latter." Other poets, too, had essayed their powers in describing the events of the Last Day. The public voice, however, has decided, that among all the poems on this great subject, that of Mr. HILLHOUSE stands unequalled. Į His object was, "to present such a view of the last grand spectacle as seemed the most susceptible of poetical embellishment;" and rarely have we seen grandeur of conception and simplicity of design so admirably united. His representation of the scene is vivid and energetic: while the manner in which he has grouped and contrasted the countless array of characters of every age, displays the highest degree of artistic skill. Each character | he summons up appears before us, with historic costume and features faithfully preserved, and we seem to gaze upon him as a reality, and not merely as the bold imagery of the poet. "For all appear'd As in their days of earthly pride; the clank Of steel announced the warrior, and the robe Of Tyrian lustre spoke the blood of kings" His description of the last setting of the sun m the west, and the dreamer's farewell to the evening star, as it was fading forever from his sight, are passages of beauty which it would be difficult charm, possessed a character combining most beauto find surpassed. About this period Mr. HILLHOUSE passed three years in Boston, preparing to engage in a mercantile life. During the interruption of business which took place in consequence of the last war with England, he employed a season of leisure passed at home, in the composition of several dramatic pieces, of which "Demetria" and "Percy's Masque" best satisfied his own judgment. When peace was restored, he went to New York, and embarked in commerce, to which, though at variance with his tastes, he devoted himself with fidelity and perseverance. In 1819, he visited Europe, and though❘ the months passed there were a season of great anxiety and business occupations, he still found time to see much to enlarge his mind, and accumulated stores of thought for future use. Among other distinguished literary men, from whom while in London he received attentions, was ZACARY MACAULAY, (father of the Hon. T. BABBINGTON MACAULAY,) who subsequently stated to some American gentlemen, that "he considered Mr. HILLHOUSE the most accomplished young man with whom he was acquainted." It was during his stay in England that "Percy's Masque" was revised and published. The subject of this drama is the successful attempt of one of the Percies, the son of Shakspeare's Hotspur, to recover his ancestral home. The era chosen is a happy one for a poet. He is dealing with the events of an age where every thing to us is clothed with a romantic interest, which invests even the most common every-day occurrences of life. "They carved at the meal With gloves of steel, 66 And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd.” Of this opportunity he fully availed himself, in the picture he has here given us of the days of chivalry. As a mere work of art, Percy's Masque" is one of the most faultless in the language. If subjected to scrutiny, it will bear the strictest criticism by which compositions of this kind can be tried. We cannot detect the violation of a single rule which should be observed in the construction of a tragedy. When, therefore, it was republished in this country, it at once gave its author an elevated rank as a dramatic poet. In 1822, Mr. HILLHOUSE was united in marriage to CORNELIA, eldest daughter of ISAAC LAWRENCE, of New York. He shortly afterward returned to his native town, and there, at his beautiful place, called Sachem's Wood, devoted himself to the pursuits of a country gentleman and practical agriculturist. His taste extended also to the arts with which poetry is allied; and in the embellishment of his residence, there was exhibited evidence of the refinement of its accomplished occupant. Here, with the exception of a few months of the winter, generally spent in New York, he passed the remainder of his life. "And never," remarks his friend, the Reverend Mr. KIPP, «has a domestic circle been anywhere gathered, uniting within itself more of grace, and elegance, ard intellect. He who formed its centre and its tifully the high endowments of literary genius, with all that is winning and brilliant in social life. They who knew him, best in the sacred relations of his own fireside, will never cease to realize, that in him their circle lost its greatest ornament. All who were accustomed to meet his cordial greeting, to listen to his fervid and eloquent conversation, to be delighted with the wit and vivacity of his playful moments; to witness the grace and elegance of his manners, the chivalric spirit, the indomitable energy and high finish of the whole character, can tell how nobly he united the combined attractions of the poet, the scholar, and the perfect gentleman. Never, indeed, have we met with one who could pour forth more eloquently his treasures, drawn from the whole range of English literature, or bring them to bear more admirably upon the passing occurrences of the day. Every syllable, too, which he uttered, conveyed the idea of a high-souled honour, which we associate more naturally with the days of old romance, than with these selfish, prosaic times. His were indeed high thoughts, seated in a heart of courtesy."" "Hadad" was written in 1824, and printed in the following year. This has generally been esteemed HILLHOUSE's masterpiece. As a sacred drama, it is probably unsurpassed. The scene is in Judea, in the days of David; and as the agency of evil spirits is introduced, an opportunity is afforded to bring forward passages of strange sublimity and wildness. For a work like this, HILLHOUSE was peculiarly qualified. A most intimate acquaintance with the Scriptures enabled him to introduce each minute detail in perfect keeping with historical truth, while from the same study he seems also to have imbibed the lofty thoughts, and the majestic style of the ancient Hebrew prophets. The In 1840, he collected, and published in two volumes, the works which at that time he was willing to give to the world. In addition to those I have already mentioned, was "Demetria," a domestic tragedy, now first revised and printed, after an interval of twenty-six years since its first composition, and several orations, delivered in New Haven, on public occasions, or before literary societies in other parts of the country. manly eloquence of the latter, is well calculated to add the reputation of an accomplished orator, to that which he already enjoyed as a poet. These volumes contain nearly all that he left us. It is a mistake, however, to suppose that he passed his life merely as a literary man. The early part of it was spent in the anxieties of business, while, through all his days, literature, instead of being his occupation, was merely the solace and delight of his leisure moments. About this time his friends beheld, with anxiety, the symptoms of failing health. For fifteen months, however, he lingered on, alternately cheering their hearts by the prospect of recovery, and then causing them again to despond, as his weakness increased. In the fall of 1840, he left home |