but at such times the man is often wholly, or at least partially obscured in the Englishman.

We should be quite at a loss to give adequate specimens of a man so various. As we stated in the outset, we shall confine ourselves, in making our extracts, to the "Hellenics," on a brief consideration of which we now enter. They will convince any careful reader that something more (we do not say higher or finer) goes to the making up of a poet than is included in the composition of the most eloquent and forcible of prose-writers.

Opulent as the prose of Landor is, we cannot but be conscious of something like poverty in his verse. He is too minutely circumstantial for a poet, and that tendency of his mind to details, which we before alluded to, stands in his way. The same careful exactness in particulars which gives finish to his prose and represses any tendency to redundance, seems to oppress his verse and to deprive it of flow. He is a poet in his prose, but in his poetry he is almost a proser. His conceptions are in the fullest sense poetical, but he stops just on the hither side of adequate expression. He comes short by so mere a hair'sbreadth that there is something painful in it. There is beauty of a certain kind, but the witching grace is wanting.

And painfully the soul receives

Sense of that gone which it had never mist,
Of somewhat lost, but when it never wist.

In verse Landor seems like a person expressing himself in a foreign language. He may attain to perfect accuracy and elegance, but the native ease is out of his reach. We said before that his power lay less in developing a continuous train of thought, than in presenting single thoughts in their entire fulness of proportion. But in poetry, it is necessary that each poem should be informed with a homogeneous spirit, which now represses the thought, now forces it to overflow, and everywhere modulates the metre and the cadence by an instinct of which we can understand the operations, though we may be unable to define the mode of them. Beside this, we should say that Landor possessed a choice of language, and is not possessed by that irresistible and happy necessity of the true poet toward the particular word whose place no other can be made to fit. His nicety in specialties imprisons him for the time in each particular verse or passage, and the poem

seems not to have grown, but to have been built up slowly, with square, single bricks, each carefully moulded, pressed, and baked beforehand. Sometimes, where a single thought or feeling is to be expressed, he appears exactly the man for the occasion.

We must not be supposed to deny the presence, in Landor's "Hellenics," of those fine qualities which we admire in his prose. We mean that the beauties are not specially those of poetry, and that they gain nothing from the verse. The almost invisible nerves of the most retired emotions are traced with rapid and familiar accuracy, rare shades of sentiment and character are touched with a delicacy peculiar to Landor, noble thoughts are presented to us, and metaphors fresh from nature. But we find no quality here which is not in his prose. The "Hellenics" seem like admirable translations of original poems. It would be juster, perhaps, to say that they impress us as Greek poetry does. We appreciate the poet more than the poetry, in which the Northern mind feels an indefinable lack.

The "Hellenics" have positive merits, but they are not exclusively those of poetry. They belong to every thing which Landor has written. We should mention, as especially prominent, entire clearness, and so thorough an absorption of the author in his subject that he does not cast about him for something to say, but is only careful of what he shall reject. He does not tell us too much, and wound our self-esteem by always taking it for granted that we do not know any thing, and cannot imagine any thing.

We should be inclined to select, as favorable specimens of his poetry, "Thrasymedes and Eunöe," "The Hamadryad," "Enallos and Cymodameia," and the last poem of the "Hellenics," to which no title is prefixed. Of these the last is most characteristic of Landor and of his scholarly and gentlemanlike love of freedom; but the one most likely to be gener ally pleasing is the "Hamadryad," in copying which we again repeat that we consider Landor as eminently a poet-though not in verse. The more precious attributes of the character he possesses in as high a degree as any modern Englishman.

Rhaicos was born amid the hills wherefrom
Gnidos the light of Caria is discern'd,

And small are the white-crested that play near,
And smaller onward are the purple waves.
Thence festal choirs were visible, all crown'd
With rose and myrtle if they were inborn;
If from Pandion sprang they, on the coast

Where stern Athenè raised her citadel,
Then olive was intwined with violets
Cluster'd in bosses, regular and large.
For various men wore various coronals;
But one was their devotion: 'twas to her

Whose laws all follow, her whose smile withdraws
The sword from Ares, thunderbolt from Zeus,

And whom in his chill caves the mutable
Of mind, Poseidon, the sea-king, reveres,
And whom his brother, stubborn Dis, hath prayed
To turn in pity the averted cheek

Of her he bore away, with promises,
Nay, with loud oath before dread Styx itself,
To give her daily more and sweeter flowers
Than he made drop from her on Enna's dell.

Rhaicos was looking from his father's door
At the long trains that hastened to the town
From all the valleys, like bright rivulets
Gurgling with gladness, wave outrunning wave,
And thought it hard he might not also go
And offer up one prayer, and press one hand,
He knew not whose. The father call'd him in.
And said, "Son Rhaicos! those are idle games;
Long enough I have lived to find them so."
And ere he ended, sigh'd; as old men do
Always, to think how idle such games are.
"I have not yet," thought Rhaicos in his heart,
And wanted proof.

Suppose thou go and help
Echion at the hill, to bark yon oak

And lop its branches off, before we delve
About the trunk and ply the root with axe:
This we may do in winter."

Rhaicos went;

For thence he could see farther, and see more
Of those who hurried to the city-gate.
Echion he found there, with naked arm
Swart-hair'd, strong sinew'd, and his eyes intent
Upon the place where first the axe should fail:
He held it upright. "There are bees about,
Or wasps, or hornets," said the cautious eld,
"Look sharp, O son of Thallinos!" The youth
Inclined his ear, afar, and warily,

And cavern'd in his hand. He heard a buzz
At first, and then the sound grew soft and clear,
And then divided into what seem'd tune,
And there were words upon it, plaintive words.
He turn'd and said, "Echion! do not strike
That tree: it must be hollow; for some God
Speaks from within. Come thyself near." Again
Both turned toward it: and behold! there sat
Upon the moss below, with her two palms
Pressing it, on each side, a maid in form.
Downcast were her long eyelashes, and pale
Her cheek, but never mountain-ash display'd
Berries of color like her lip so pure,
Nor were the anemones about her hair
Soft, smooth, and wavering like the face beneath.
"What dost thou here?" Echion half-afraid,

Half-angry, cried. She lifted up her eyes,
But nothing spake she. Rhaicos drew one step
Backward, for fear came likewise over him,
But not such fear: he panted, gaspt, drew in
His breath, and would have turned it into words,
But could not into one.

"O send away

That sad old man!" said she. The old man went
Without a warning from his master's son,

Glad to escape, for sorely he now fear'd,

And the axe shone behind him in their eyes.

Hamadryad. And wouldst thou too shed the most innocent Of blood? no vow demands it; no God wills

The oak to bleed.

Rhaicos.

Who art thou? whence? why here?
And whither wouldst thou go? Among the robed
In white or saffron, or the hue that most
Resembles dawn or the clear sky, is none
Array'd as thou art. What so beautiful

As that gray robe which clings about thee close,
Like moss to stones adhering, leaves to trees,
Yet lets thy bosom rise and fall in turn,

As, toucht by zephyrs, fall and rise the boughs
Of graceful platan by the river-side.

Hamadryad. Lovest thou well thy father's house?
Rhaicos.

Indeed

I love it, well I love it, yet would leave
For thine, where'er it be, my father's house,
With all the marks upon the door, that show
My growth at every birth-day since the third,
And all the charms, o'erpowering evil eyes,
My mother nail'd for me against my bed,
And the Cydonian bow (which thou shalt see)
Won in my race last spring from Eutychos.

Hamadryad. Bethink what it is to leave a home

Thou never yet has left, one night, one day.

Rhaicos. No, 'tis not hard to leave it; 'tis not hard
To leave, O maiden, that paternal home,
If there be one on earth whom we may love
First, last, for ever; one who says that she
Will love for ever too. To say which word,
Only to say it, surely is enough

It shows such kindness. . if 'twere possible

We at the moment think she would indeed.

Hamadryad. Who taught thee all this folly at thy age!
Rhaicos. I have seen lovers and have learnt to love.

Hamadryad. But wilt thou spare the tree?

Rhaicos.

My father wants

The bark; the tree may hold its place awhile.

Hamadryad Awhile? thy father numbers then my days?

Rhaicos. Are there no others where the moss beneath

Is quite as tufty! Who would send thee forth

Or ask thee why thou tarriest! Is thy flock

Anywhere near?

Hamadryad.

I have no flock: I kill

Nothing that breathes, that stirs, that feels the air,
The sun, the dew. Why should the beautiful
(And thou art beautiful) disturb the source

Whence springs all beauty? Hast thou never heard
Of Hamadryads?

Tell me some tale about them. May I sit
Beside thy feet? Art thou not tired? The herbs
Are very soft; I will not come too nigh;
Do but sit there. nor tremble so, nor doubt.
Stay, stay an instant: let me first explore
If any acorn of last year be left
Within it; thy thin robe too ill protects
Thy dainty limbs against the harm one small
Acorn may do. Here's none. Another day
Trust me till then let me sit opposite.

Hamadryad. I seat me; be thou seated, and content.
Rhaicos. O sight for gods! Ye men below! adore
The Aphrodite. Is she there below?

Or sits she here before me? as she sate

Before the shepherd on those highths that shade

The Hellesport, and brought his kindred woe.

Hamadryad. Reverence the higher Powers; nor deem amiss

Of her who pleads to thee, and would repay

Ask not how much.. but very much. Rise not:

No, Rhaicos, no! Without the nuptial vow

Love is unholy. Swear to me that none

Of mortal maids shall ever taste thy kiss,

Then take thou mine; then take it, not before.

Rhaicos. Hearken, all gods above! O Aphrodite!

O Here! let my vow be ratified!

But wilt thou come into my father's house?

Hamadryad. Nay: and of mine I can not give thee part. Rhaicos. Where is it?

Hamadryad. In this oak.

Rhaicos.

Ay; now begins

The tale of Hamadryad: tell it through.

Hamadryad. Pray of thy father never to cut down

My tree; and promise him, as thou mayst,

That every year he shall receive from me

More honey than will buy him nine fat sheep,

More wax than he will burn to all the gods.

Why fallest thou upon thy face? Some thorn

May scratch it, rash young man! Rise up; for shame!
Rhaicos. For shame I can not rise. O pity me!

I dare not sue for love. . but do not hate!

Let me once more behold thee.. not once more,

But many days: let me love on.. unloved!

I aimed too high: on my own head the bolt

Falls back, and pierces to the very brain.

Hamadryad. Go.. rather go, than make me say I love. Rhaicos. If happiness is immortality,

(And whence enjoy it else the gods above?)

I am immortal too: my vow is heard:

Hark! on the left.. Nay, turn not from me now,

I claim my kiss.

.. Her lips were seal'd; her head sank on his breast.

'Tis said that laughs were heard within the wood:

But who should hear them?.. and whose laughs? and why? Savoury was the smell and long past noon,

Thallinos! in thy house; for marjoram,