Per Into APOLLO and the lustrous DIAN; walbe And when the wings of morn commenced to fan Che darkness from the east, afar there rose, Within the thick and odour-dropping forests, [est, en Where moss was grayest and dim caves were hoarAfar there rose the known and dreadful hiss

Est Of the pursuing dragon.

Agonies

Grew on LATONA'S Soul; and she had fled,
And tried again the ocean's pervious bed,
Had not APOLLO, young and bright APOLLO,
Restrained from the dim and perilous hollow,
And ask'd what meant the noise. "It is, O child!
The hideous dragon that hath aye defiled
My peace and quiet, sent by heaven's queen
To slay her rival, me." Upon the green
And mossy grass there lay a nervous bow,
And heavy arrows, eagle-wing'd, which thou,
O JOVE! hadst placed within APOLLO's reach.
These grasping, the young god stood in the breach
Of circling trees, with eye that fiercely glanced,
Nostril expanded, lip press'd, foot advanced,
And arrow at the string; when, lo! the coil
Of the fierce snake came on with winding toil,
And vast gyrations, crushing down the branches,
With noise as when a hungry tiger cranches
Huge bones and then APOLLO drew his bow
Full at the eye-nor ended with one blow:
Dart after dart he hurl'd from off the string-
All at the eye-until a lifeless thing

The dragon lay. Thus the young sun-god slew
Old Juno's scaly snake: and then he threw
(So strong was he) the monster in the sea;
And sharks came round and ate voraciously,
Lashing the waters into bloody foam,

By their fierce fights. LATONA, then, might roam
In earth, air, sea, or heaven, void of dread;
For even Juxo badly might have sped
With her bright children, whom thou soon didst set
To rule the sun and moon, as they do yet.
Thou! who didst then their destiny control,
I here would woo thee, till into my soul
Thy light might sink. O JOVE! I am full sure
None bear unto thy star a love more pure
Than I; thou hast been, everywhere, to me
A source of inspiration. I should be
Sleepless, could I not first behold thine orb
Rise in the west; then doth my heart absorb,
Like other withering flowers, thy light and life;
For that neglect, which cutteth like a knife,
I never have from thee, unless the lake
Of heaven be clouded. Planet! thou wouldst make
Me, as thou didst thine ancient worshippers,
A poet; but, alas! whatever stirs
My tongue and pen, they both are faint and weak:
APOLLO hath not, in some gracious freak,
Given to me the spirit of his lyre,
Or touch'd my heart with his ethereal fire
And glorious essence: thus, whate'er I sing
Is weak and poor, and may but humbly ring
Above the waves of Time's far-booming sea.
All I can give is small; thou wilt not scorn
A heart: I give no golden sheaves of corn;
I burn to thee no rich and odorous gums;
I offer up to thee no hecatombs,

28

And build no altars: 't is a heart alone; Such as it is, I give it 't is thy own.

TO THE MOCKING-BIRD.

THOU glorious mocker of the world! I hear
Thy many voices ringing through the glooms
Of these green solitudes-and all the clear,
Bright joyance of their song enthralls the ear
And floods the heart. Over the sphered tombs
Of vanish'd nations rolls thy music tide.
No light from history's starlike page illumes
The memory of those nations-they have died.
None cares for them but thou, and thou mayst sing,
Perhaps, o'er me-as now thy song doth ring
Over their bones by whom thou once wast deified.
Thou scorner of all cities! Thou dost leave
The world's turmoil and never-ceasing din,
Where one from others no existence weaves,
Where the old sighs, the young turns gray and
grieves,

Where misery gnaws the maiden's heart within:
And thou dost flee into the broad, green woods,
And with thy soul of music thou dost win
Their heart to harmony-no jar intrudes
Upon thy sounding melody. O, where,
Amid the sweet musicians of the air,

Is one so dear as thee to these old solitudes?
Ha! what a burst was that! the Eolian strain
Goes floating through the tangled passages
Of the lone woods-and now it comes again--
A multitudinous melody-like a rain
Of glossy music under echoing trees,
Over a ringing lake; it wraps the soul
With a bright harmony of happiness-
Even as a gem is wrapt, when round it roll
Their waves of brilliant flame-till we become,
E'en with the excess of our deep pleasure, dumb,
And pant like some swift runner clinging to the goal.
I would, sweet bird, that I might live with thee,
Amid the eloquent grandeur of the shades,
Alone with nature-but it may not be;
I have to struggle with the tumbling sea
Of human life, until existence fades
Into death's darkness. Thou wilt sing and soar
Through the thick woods and shadow-checker'd
glades,

deferr'd

While naught of sorrow casts a dimness o'er The brilliance of thy heart-but I must wear As now, my garmenting of pain and careAs penitents of old their galling sackcloth wore. Yet why complain ?-What though fond hopes [gloom! Have overshadow'd Youth's green paths with Still, joy's rich music is not all unheard,— There is a voice sweeter than thine, sweet bird, To welcome me, within my humble home;There is an eye with love's devotion bright, The darkness of existence to illume! Then why complain?-When death shall cast his Over the spirit, then my bones shall rest Beneath these trees-and from thy swelling breast, O'er them thy song shall pour like a rich flood of light.

[blight

THE paternal ancestors of Mr. BENJAMIN came to New England at an early period from Wales. His father, who was a merchant, resided many years at Demerara, in British Guiana, where he acquired a large fortune. There the subject of this notice was born in the year 1809. When he

was about three years old, in consequence of a severe illness he was brought to this country, under the care of a faithful female guardian, and here, except during a few brief periods, he has since resided. The improper medical treatment to which he had been subjected in Demerara prevented his complete restoration under the more skilful physicians of New England, and he has been lame from his childhood; but I believe his general health has been uniformly good for many

years.

While a boy he was sent to an excellent school in the rural village of Colchester, in Connecticut. At twelve he was removed to New Haven, where he resided three years in his father's family, after which he was sent to a private boarding school near Boston, in which he remained until he entered Harvard College, in 1825. He left this venerable institution before the close of his second academic year, in consequence of a protracted and painful illness, and on his recovery entered Washington College, at Hartford, then under the presidency of the Right Reverend THOMAS C. BROWNELL, now Bishop of Connecticut. He was graduated in 1829, with the highest honours of his class.

In 1830, Mr. BENJAMIN entered the Law School at Cambridge, at that time conducted by Mr. Justice STORY and Professor ASHмUN. He pursued his legal studies with much industry for a considerable period at this seminary, but finished the acquirement of his profession at New Haven, under Chief Justice DAGGETT and Professor HITCHCOCK. He was admitted to the Connecticut bar in 1833, and removing soon after to Boston, the residence of his relatives and friends, he was admitted to the courts of Massachusetts, as attorney and counsellor at law and solicitor in chancery.

His disposition to devote his time to literature prevented his entering upon the practice of his profession, and on the death of EDWIN BUCKINGHAM, one of its original editors, I believe he became connected with the "New England Magazine." In 1836 that periodical was joined to the "American Monthly Magazine," published in New York, and edited by CHARLES F. HOFFMAN, and Mr. BENJAMIN was soon after induced to go to reside permanently in that city. By unfortunate investments, and the calamities in which so many were involved in that period, he had lost most of his patrimonial property, and the remainder

of it he now invested in a publishing establishment; but the commercial distress of the time, by which many of the wealthiest houses were overthrown, prevented the realization of his expectations, and the business was abandoned. He purchased, I believe, near the close of the year 1837, the "American Monthly Magazine," and for about two years conducted it with much ability; but by giving to some of the later numbers of it a political character, its prosperity was destroyed, and he relinquished it to become associated with Mr. HORACE GREELEY in the editorship of the "New Yorker," a popular weekly periodical, devoted to literature and politics. In 1840 several weekly gazettes of unprecedented size were established in New York, and rapidly attained a great circulation. With the most prominent of these he was connected, and his writings contributed largely to its success.

In both prose and verse Mr. BENJAMIN has been a very prolific author. His rhythmical compositions would fill many volumes. They are generally short. "A Poem on the Contemplation of Nature," read before the classes of Washington College, on the day of his graduation; « Poetry, a Satire," published in 1843, and "Infatuation, a Satire," published in 1845, are the longest of his printed works. He has written several dramatic pieces, of which only fragments have been given to the public.

There have not been many successful American satires. TRUMBULL'S "Progress of Dulness" and McFingal," are the best that had been produced at the close of the Revolution. FRENEAU, HOPKINS, DWIGHT, ALSOP, CLIFFTON, and others, attempted this kind of writing with various success, ,but none of them equalled TRUMBULL. More recently FESSENDEN, VERPLANCK, PIERPONT, HALLECK, HOLMES, WARD, OSBORN, and BENJAMIN, have essayed it. HALLECK'S "Fanny" and Epistles" are witty, spirited and playful, but local in their application. The "Vision of Rubeta" has felicitous passages, and shows that its author is a scholar, but it is cumbrous and occasionally coarse. Mr. BENJAMIN's satires are lively, pointed, and free from malignity or licentiousness.

In some of his shorter poems, Mr. BENJAMIN has shown a quick perception of the ridiculous; in others, warm affections and a meditative spirit; and in more, gayety. His poems are adorned with apposite and pretty fancies, and seem generally to be expressive of actual feelings. Some of his humourous pieces, as the sonnet entitled " Sport," which is quoted in the following pages, are happily expressed, but his style is generally more like that of an improvisator than an artist. He rarely makes use of the burnisher.

And when the moon, of fairy stars the queen, Waves her transparent wand o'er all the scene;

I seek the vale,

And, while inhaling the moss-rose's breath,—
(Less sweet than thine, unmatch'd ELIZABETH!)
A vision, pale

As the far robes of seraphs in the night,
Rises before me with supernal light.

I seek the mount,

And there, in closest commune with the blue, Thy spiritual glances meet my view.

I seek the fount:

And thou art my EGERIA, and the glade Encircling it around is holier made.

I seek the brook:

And, in the silver shout of waters, hear
Thy merry, melting tones salute mine ear:
And, in the look

Of lilies floating from the flowery land,
See something soft and stainless as thy hand.
All things convey

A likeness of my early, only love-
All fairest things around, below, above:
The foamy spray

Over the billow, and the bedded pearls,
And the light flag the lighter breeze unfurls.
For, in the grace

As well as in the beauty of the sea,
I find a true similitude to thee;
And I can trace

Thine image in the loveliness that dwells
Mid inland forests and sequester'd dells.

Tidings, sometimes, of him who loved thee well— More than his pen can write or tongue can tell?

Gaze not thine eyes

(0, wild and lustrous eyes, ye were my fate!) Upon the lines he fashion'd not of late, But when the skies