proper machinery for a botanic poem, as it is probable they were originally the names of hieroglyphic figures representing the elements.' The novelty and ingenuity of Darwin's attempt attracted much attention, and rendered him highly popular. In the same year the poet was called to attend an aged gentleman, Colonel Sachevell Pole of Radbourne Hall, near Derby. An intimacy was thus formed with Mrs. Pole; and the colonel dying, the poetical physician in a few months afterwards, in 1781, married the fair widow, who possessed a jointure of £600 per annum. Darwin was now released from all prudential fears and restraints as to the cultivation of his poetical talents, and he went on adding to his floral gallery. In 1789 appeared the second part of his poem, containing the Loves of the Plants.' Ovid having, he said, transmuted men, women, and even gods and goddesses, into trees and flowers, he had undertaken, by similar art, to restore some of them to their original animality, after having remained prisoners so long in their respective vegetable mansions. Extract from 'Loves of the Plants.' From giant oaks, that wave their branches dark, Ye painted moths, your gold-eyed plumage furl. This is certainly melodious verse, and ingenious subtle fancy. A few passages have moral sentiment and human interest united to the same powers of vivid painting and expression: Roll on, ye stars, exult in youthful prime, Mark with bright curves the printless steps of time: *Linnæus, the celebrated Swedish naturalist, has demonstrated that all flowers contain families of males or females, or both, and on their marriage has constructed his invaluable system of botany.-DARWIN, Star after star from heaven's high arch shall rush, Mounts from her funeral pyre on wings of flame, In another part of the poem, after describing the cassia plant, ‘cinctured with gold,' and borne on by the current to the coasts of Norway, with all its 'infant loves,' or seeds, the poet, in his usual strain of forced similitude, digresses in the following happy and vigorous lines, to Moses concealed on the Nile,' and the slavery of the Africans: So the sad mother at the noon of night, Gives her white bosom to his eager lips, The salt tears mingling with the milk he sips; Waits on the reed-crowned brink with pious guile, Erewhile majestic from his lone abode, Wrenched the red scourge from proud oppression's hands, 'Which shook the waves and rent the sky? The material images of Darwin are often less happy than the above, being both extravagant and gross, and grouped together without any visible connection or dependence one on the other. He has such a throng of startling metaphors and descriptions, the latter drawn out to an excessive length and tiresome minuteness, that nothing is left to the reader's imagination, and the whole passes like a glittering pageant before the eye, exciting wonder, but without touching the heart or feelings. As the poet was then past fifty, the exuberance of his fancy, and his peculiar choice of subjects, are the more remarkable. A third part of the Botanic Garden' was added in 1792; (he received £900 for the copyright of the whole). Darwin next published his "Zoonomia, or the Laws of Organic Life,' part of which he had written many years previously. This is a curious and original physiological treatise, evincing an inquiring and attentive study of natural phenomena. Dr. Thomas Brown, Professor Dugald Stewart, Paley, and others, have, however, successfully combated the positions of Darwin, particularly his theory which refers instinct to sensation. In 1801 our author came forward with another philoso phical disquisition, entitled 'Phytologia, or the Philosophy of Agriculture and Gardening.' He also wrote a short treatise on 'Female Education,' intended for the instruction and assistance of part of his own family. This was Darwin's last publication. He had always been a remarkably temperate man. Indeed, he totally abstained from all fermented and spirituous liquors, and in his 'Botanic Garden' he compares their effects to that of the Promethean fire. He was, however, subject to inflammation as well as gout, and a sudden attack carried him off in his seventy-first year, on the 18th of April 1802. Shortly after his death, was published a poem, the Temple of Nature,' which he had ready for the press, the preface to the work being dated only three months before his death. The Temple of Nature' aimed, like the Botanic Garden,' to amuse by bringing distinctly to the imagination the beautiful and sublime images of the operations of nature. It is more metaphysical than its predecessor, and more inverted in style and diction. The poetical reputation of Darwin was as bright and transient as the plants and flowers which formed the subject of his verse. Cowper praised his 'song' for its rich embellishments, and said it was as 'strong' as it was learned and sweet.' 'There is a fashion in poetry,' observes Sir Walter Scott, which, without increasing or diminishing the real value of the materials moulded upon it, does wonders in facilitating its currency while it has novelty, and is often found to impede its reception when the mode has passed away.' This has been the fate of Darwin. Besides his coterie at Lichfield, the poet of Flora had considerable influence on the poetical taste of his own day. He may be traced in the Pleasures of Hope' of Campbell, and in other young poets of that time. The attempt to unite science with the inspirations of the Muse, was in itself an attractive novelty, and he supported it with various and high powers. His command of fancy, of poetical language, dazzling metaphors, and sonorous versification, was well seconded by his curious and multifarious knowledge. The effect of the whole, however, was artificial, and destitute of any strong or continuous interest. The Rosicrucian machinery of Pope was united to the delineation of human passions and pursuits, and became the auxiliary of wit and satire; but who can sympathise with the loves and metamorphoses of the plants? Darwin had no sentiment or pathos except in very brief episodical passages, and even his eloquent and splendid versification, for want of variety of cadence, becomes monotonous and fatiguing. There is no repose, no cessation from the glare of his bold images, his compound epithets, and high-toned melody. He had attained to rare perfection in the mechanism of poetry, but wanted those impulses of soul and sense, and that guiding taste which were required to give it vitality, and direct it to its true objects. Invocation to the Goddess of Botany.-From the Botanic Garden.' 6 Stay your rude stops! whose throbbing breasts infold The legion-fiends of glory and of gold! Stay, whose false lips seductive simpers part, But thou whose mind the well-attempered ray And if with thee some hapless maid should stray, Oh, lead her timid steps to yonder glade, Winds of the north! restrain your icy gales Hither, emerging from yon orient skies, O'er the still dawn thy placid smile effuse, Stretched o'er the marshy vale yon willowy mound, Raised the young woodland, smoothed the wavy green, She comes! the goddess! through the whispering air, Destruction of Sennacherib's Army by a Pestilential Wind-From the Economy of Vegetation.' From Ashur's vales when proud Sennacherib trod, Hosts beat their breasts, and suppliant chieftains bowed; High in the midst the kneeling king adored, Raised his pale hands, and breathed his pausing sighs, 'O mighty God, amidst thy seraph throng Called each dank steam the reeking marsh exhales, |