TIMOTHY DWIGHT, D.D., LL. D., was born in Northampton, Massachusetts, on the fourteenth of May, 1752. His father was a merchant, of excellent character and liberal education; and his mother, a daughter of the great JONATHAN EDWARDS, was one of the noblest matrons of her time, distinguished not less for her maternal solicitude, ardent temperament, and patriotism, than for the intellectual qualities which made so illustrious the name of the New England metaphysician. She early perceived the indications of superior genius in her son; and we are told by his biographers that under her direction he became familiar with the rudiments of the Latin language before he was six years old, and at the same early period laid the foundation of his remarkable knowledge of history, geography, and the kindred departments of learning. When thirteen years old he entered Yale College. His previous unremitted attention to study had impaired his health, and he made little progress during the first two years of his residence at New Haven; but his subsequent intense and uninterrupted application enabled him to graduate in 1769, the first scholar in the institution. Immediately after obtaining the degree of bachelor of arts, he opened a grammar-school in New Haven, in which he continued two years, at the end of which time he was elected a tutor in his alma mater. Yale College was established in the year 1700 by several Congregational clergymen, and had, before the period at which DWIGHT returned to it, become generally unpopular, in consequence of the alleged illiberality of the trustees towards other denominations of Christians. At this time two of the tutors had resigned, leaving in office Mr. JOSEPH HOWE, a man of erudition and liberal sentiments, and DWIGHT and JOHN TRUMBULL were chosen in their places. The regeneration of the seminary now commenced; the study of belles lettres was successfully introduced; its character rapidly rose, and so popular did DWIGHT become with the students, that when, at the age of twenty-five, he resigned his office, they drew up and almost unanimously signed a petition to the corporation that he might be elected to the presidency. He, however, interfered and prevented the formal presentation of the application.

In 1771, DWIGHT commenced writing the "Conquest of Canaan," an "epic poem in eleven books," which he finished in 1774, before he was twentythree years of age. The subject probably was not the most fortunate that could have been chosen, but a poet with passion and a brilliant imagination, by attempting to paint the manners of the time and the natural characteristics of the oriental world, might have treated it more successfully. DWIGHT

"endeavoured to represent such manners as are removed from the peculiarities of any age or country, and might belong to the amiable and virtuous of any period; elevated without design, refined without ceremony, elegant without fashion, and agrecable because they are ornamented with sincerity, dignity, and religion;" his poem therefore has no distinctive features, and with very slight changes would answer as well for any other land or period as for Judea at the time of its conquest by JosпUA. Its versification is harmonious, but monotonous, and the work is free from all the extravagances of expression and sentiment which so frequently lessen the worth of poetry by youthful and inexperienced writers. Some of the passages which I have quoted from the "Conquest of Canaan" are doubtless equal to any American poetry produced at this period.

In 1777, the classes in Yale College were separated on account of the war, and, in the month of May, DWIGHT repaired with a number of students to Weathersfield, in Connecticut, where he remained until the autumn, when, having been licensed to preach as a Congregational minister, he joined the army as a chaplain. In this office he won much regard by his professional industry and eloquence, and at the same time exerted considerable influence by writing patriotic songs, which became popular throughout New England. The death of his father, in 1778, induced him to resign his situation in the army, and return to Northampton, to assist his mother to support and educate her family. He remained there five years, labouring on a farm, preaching, and superintending a school, and was in that period twice elected a member of the Legislature of Massachusetts. Declining offers of political advancement, he was, in 1783, ordained a minister in the parish of Greenfield, in Connecticut, where he remained twelve years, discharging his pastoral duties in a manner that was perfectly satisfactory to his people, and taking charge of an academy, established by himself, which soon become the most popular school of the kind that had ever existed in America.

The Conquest of Canaan," although finished ten years before, was not printed until the spring of 1785. It was followed by "Greenfield Hill," a descriptive, historical, and didactic poem, which was published in 1794. This work is divided into seven parts, entitled "The Prospect," "The Flourishing Village," "The Burning of Fairfield,” "The Destruction of the Pequods," "The Clergyman's Advice to the Villagers," "The Farmer's Advice to the Villagers," and "The Vision, or Prospect of the Future Happiness of America." It contains some pleasing pictures of rural life, but added little to the author's reputation as a

poet. The "Triumph of Infidelity," a satire, occasioned by the appearance of a defence of Universalism, was his next attempt in poetry. It was printed anonymously, and his fame would not have been less had its authorship been still a secret.

On the death of Dr. STYLES, in 1795, DWIGHT was elected to the presidency of Yale College, which at this time was in a disordered condition, and suffering from pecuniary embarrassments. The reputation of the new president as a teacher soon brought around him a very large number of students; new professorships were established, the library and philosophical apparatus were extended, the course of study and system of government changed, and the college rapidly rose in the public favour. Besides acting as president, DwIGHT was the stated preacher, professor of theology, and teacher of the senior class, for nearly twenty-one years, during which time the reputation of the college was inferior to that of no other in America.

Dr. DWIGHT died at his residence in New Haven on the eleventh of January, 1817, in the sixty-fifth year of his age. The following catalogue of his works is probably complete: "America," a poem in the style of Pope's "Windsor Forest," 1772; «The History, Eloquence and Poetry of the Bible," 1772; "The Conquest of Canaan," a poem, 1785; “An Election Sermon," 1791; "The Genuineness and Authenticity of the New Testament," 1793; "Greenfield Hill," a poem, 1794; «The Triumph of Infidelity," a satire, and two "Discourses on the Nature and Danger of Infidel Philosophy," 1797; "The

Duty of Americans in the Present Crisis," 1798; Discourse on the Character of Washington," 1800; "Discourse on some Events in the last Century," 1801; "Sermons," on the death of E. G. Marsh, 1804; on Duelling, 1805; at the Andover Theological Seminary, 1808; on the ordination of E. Pearson, 1808; on the death of Governor Trumbull, 1809; on Charity, 1810; at the ordination of N. W. Taylor, 1812; on two days of public fasting, 1812; and before the American Board of Foreign Missions, 1813; "Remarks on a Review of Inchiquin's Letters," 1815; “Observations on Language,” and an "Essay on Light," 1816; and "Theology Explained and Defended,” in a series of sermons, and "Travels in New England and New York," in which is given an account of various spring and autumn vacation excursions, each in four volumes, published after his death.

As a poet DWIGHT was little inferior to any of his contemporaries in America; but it was not on his poetry that his claims to the respect of mankind were based. As an instructor probably he was never surpassed in this country, and as a theologian he had few if any equals. An eloquent preacher, with a handsome person, an expressive countenance, polished and affable manners, brilliant conversational abilities, and vast stores of learning, it was almost impossible that he should fail of success in any effort, and least of all in the administration of the important office which he so long and so honourably filled. The best account of his life and character which has appeared is that by Dr. SPRAGUE.

AN INDIAN TEMPLE.

THERE too, with awful rites, the hoary priest, Without, beside the moss-grown altar stood, (His sable form in magic cincture dress'd,) And heap'd the mingled offering to his god. What time with golden light calm evening glow'd, The mystic dust, the flower of silver bloom And spicy herb, his hand in order strew'd; Bright rose the curling flame, and rich perfume On smoky wings upflew or settled round the tomb.

Then o'er the circus danced the maddening throng As erst the Thyas roam'd dread Nysa round, And struck to forest notes the ecstatic song, While slow beneath them heaved the wavy ground. With a low, lingering groan of dying sound, The woodland rumbled; murmur'd deep each stream;

Shrill sung the leaves; the ether sigh'd profound;

Pale tufts of purple topp'd the silver flame, And many-colour'd forms on evening breezes came:

Thin, twilight forms, attired in changing sheen Of plumes, high-tinctured in the western rayBending, they peep'd the fleecy folds between, Their wings light-rustling in the breath of May;

Soft-hovering round the fire in mystic play, They snuff'd the incense waved in clouds afar, Then silent floated toward the setting day; Eve redden'd each fine form, each misty car, And through them faintly gleam'd, at times, the

western star.

Then-so tradition sings-the train behind, In plumy zones of rainbow beauty dress'd, Rode the Great Spirit, in the obedient wind, In yellow clouds slow-sailing from the west. With dawning smiles the god his votaries blest, And taught where deer retired to ivy dell; What chosen chief with proud command t' invest; Where crept the approaching foe, with purpose fell, And where to wind the scout, and war's dark storm dispel.

There, on her lover's tomb in silence laid, [beam, While still and sorrowing shower'd the moon's pale At times expectant, slept the widow'd maid, Her soul far-wandering on the sylph-wing'd dream. Wafted from evening skies on sunny stream, Her darling youth with silver pinions shone; With voice of music, tuned to sweetest theme, He told of shell-bright bowers beyond the sun, Where years of endless joy o'er Indian lovers run.

ENGLAND AND AMERICA.*

Soox fleets the sunbright form, by man adored!Soon fell the head of gold to Time a prey, The arms, the trunk, his cankering tooth devour'd, And whirlwinds blew the iron dust away. Where dwelt imperial Timur, far astray Some lonely-musing pilgrim now inquires; And, rack'd by storms and hastening to decay, Mohammed's mosque foresces its final fires, And Rome's more lordly temple day by day expires. As o'er proud Asian realms the traveller winds, His manly spirit, hush'd by terror, fails When some forgotten town's lost site he finds; Where ruin wild his pondering eye appals, Where silence swims along the moulder'd walls, And broods upon departed Grandeur's tomb, Through the lone, hollow aisles, sad Echo calls At each slow step; deep sighs the breathing gloom, And weeping fields around bewail their empress' doom.

Where o'er a hundred realms the throne uprose The screech-owl nests, the panther builds his home; Sleep the dull newts, the lazy adders doze Where pomp and luxury danced the golden room; Low lies in dust the sky-resembled dome, Tall grass around the broken column waves, And brambles climb and lonely thistles bloom; The moulder'd arch the weedy streamlet laves, And low resound, beneath, unnumber'd sunken graves.

In thee, O Albion! queen of nations, live [known; Whatever splendours earth's wide realms have In thee proud Persia sees her pomp revive, And Greece her arts, and Rome her lordly throne; By every wind thy Tyrian fleets are blown; Supreme, on Fame's dread roll, thy heroes stand; All ocean's realms thy naval sceptre own; Of bards, of sages, how august thy band! And one rich Eden blooms around thy garden'd land. But, O how vast thy crimes! Through Heaven's

great year,

When few centurial suns have traced their way; When Southern Europe, worn by feuds severe, Weak, doting, fallen, has bow'd to Russian sway, And setting Glory beam'd her farewell ray, To wastes, perchance, thy brilliant fields shall turn; In dust thy temples, towers, and towns decay; The forest howl where London turrets burn, And all thy garlands deck thy sad funereal urn. Some land, scarce glimmering in the light of fame, Scepter'd with arts and arms, (if I divine,) Some unknown wild, some shore without a name, In all thy pomp shall then majestic shine. As silver-headed Time's slow years decline, Not ruins only meet the inquiring eye; Where round yon mouldering oak vain brambles The filial stem, already towering high, [twine, Ere long shall stretch his arms, and nod in yonder sky.

*The extract above and the one which precedes it are from the canto on the destruction of the Pequod Indians, in "Greenfield Hill."

Where late resounded the wild woodland roar Now heaves the palace, now the temple smiles; Where frown'd the rude rock and the desert shore Now Pleasure sports, and Business want beguiles, And Commerce wings her flight to thousand isles; Culture walks forth, gay laugh the loaded fields, And jocund Labour plays his harmless wiles; Glad Science brightens, Art her mansion builds, And Peace uplifts her wand, and HEAVEN his blessing yields.

THE SOCIAL VISIT.*

YE Muses! dames of dignified renown, Revered alike in country and in town, Your bard the mysteries of a visit show; (For sure your ladyships those mysteries know:) What is it, then, obliging sisters! say, The debt of social visiting to pay?

"Tis not to toil before the idol pier;
To shine the first in fashion's lunar sphere;
By sad engagements forced abroad to roam,
And dread to find the expecting fair at home!
To stop at thirty doors in half a day,
Drop the gilt card, and proudly roll away;
To alight, and yield the hand with nice parade;
Up stairs to rustle in the stiff brocade;
Swim through the drawing-room with studied air,
Catch the pink'd beau, and shade the rival fair;
To sit, to curb, to toss with bridled mien,
Mince the scant speech, and lose a glance between;
Unfurl the fan, display the snowy arm,
And ope, with each new motion, some new charm:
Or sit in silent solitude, to spy

Each little failing with malignant eye;
Or chatter with incessancy of tongue,
Careless if kind or cruel, right or wrong;
To trill of us and ours, of mine and me,
Our house, our coach, our friends, our family,
While all the excluded circle sit in pain,
And glance their cool contempt or keen disdain:
To inhale from proud Nanking a sip of tea,
And wave a courtesy trim and flirt away:
Or waste at cards peace, temper, health, and life,
Begin with sullenness, and end in strife;
Lose the rich feast by friendly converse given,
And backward turn from happiness and heaven.
It is in decent habit, plain and neat,
To spend a few choice hours in converse sweet,
Careless of forms, to act the unstudied part,
To mix in friendship, and to blend the heart;
To choose those happy themes which all must feel,
The moral duties and the household weal,
The tale of sympathy, the kind design,
Where rich affections soften and refine,
To amuse, to be amused, to bless, be bless'd,
And tune to harmony the common breast;
To cheer with mild good-humour's sprightly ray,
And smooth life's passage o'er its thorny way;
To circle round the hospitable board,
And taste each good our generous climes afford;
To court a quick return with accents kind,
And leave, at parting, some regret behind.

*From "Greenfield Hill."

THE COUNTRY PASTOR.*

Аn! knew he but his happiness, of ment Not the least happy he, who, free from broils And base ambition, vain and bustling pomp, Amid a friendly cure, and competence, Tastes the pure pleasures of parochial life. What though no crowd of clients, at his gate, To falsehood and injustice bribe his tongue, And flatter into guilt?-what though no bright And gilded prospects lure ambition on To legislative pride, or chair of state? What though no golden dreams entice his mind To burrow, with the mole, in dirt and mire? What though no splendid villa, Eden'd round With gardens of enchantment, walks of state, And all the grandeur of superfluous wealth, Invite the passenger to stay his steed,

And ask the liveried foot-boy," Who dwells here?" What though no swarms, around his sumptuous board,

Of soothing flatterers, humming in the shine
Of opulence, and honey from its flowers
Devouring, till their time arrives to sting,
Inflate his mind; his virtues round the year
Repeating, and his faults, with microscope
Inverted, lessen, till they steal from sight?-
Yet from the dire temptations these present
His state is free; temptations, few can stem;
Temptations, by whose sweeping torrent hurl'd
Down the dire steep of guilt, unceasing fall
Sad victims, thousands of the brightest minds
That time's dark reign adorn; minds, to whose grasp
Heaven seems most freely offer'd; to man's eye,
Most hopeful candidates for angels' joys.

His lot, that wealth, and power, and pride forbids,
Forbids him to become the tool of fraud,
Injustice, misery, ruin; saves his soul
From all the needless labours, griefs, and cares,
That avarice and ambition agonize;

From those cold nerves of wealth, that, palsied, feel
No anguish, but its own; and ceaseless lead
To thousand meannesses, as gain allures.

Though oft compell'd to meet the gross attack
Of shameless ridicule and towering pride,
Sufficient good is his; good, real, pure,
With guilt unmingled. Rarely forced from home,
Around his board his wife and children smile;
Communion sweetest, nature here can give,
Each fond endearment, office of delight,
With love and duty blending. Such the joy
My bosom oft has known. His, too, the task
To rear the infant plants that bud around;
To ope their little minds to truth's pure light;
To take them by the hand, and lead them on
In that straight, narrow road where virtue walks;
To guard them from a vain, deceiving world,

And point their course to realms of promised life.
His too the esteem of those who weekly hear
His words of truth divine; unnumber'd acts
Of real love attesting to his eye
Their filial tenderness. Where'er he walks,
The friendly welcome and inviting smile
Wait on his steps, and breathe a kindred joy.

Oft too in friendliest association join'd,
He greets his brethren, with a flowing heart,
Flowing with virtue; all rejoiced to meet,
And all reluctant parting; every aim,
Benevolent, aiding with purpose kind;
While, season'd with unblemish'd cheerfulness,
Far distant from the tainted mirth of vice,
Their hearts disclose each contemplation sweet
Of things divine; and blend in friendship pure,
Friendship sublimed by piety and love.

All virtue's friends are his: the good, the just,
The pious, to his house their visits pay,
And converse high hold of the true, the fair,
The wonderful, the moral, the divine:
Of saints and prophets, patterns bright of truth,
Lent to a world of sin, to teach mankind
How virtue in that world can live and shine;
Of learning's varied realms; of Nature's works;
And that bless'd book which gilds man's darksome
way

With light from heaven; of bless'd Messiah's throne
And kingdom; prophecies divine fulfill'd,
And prophecies more glorious yet to come
In renovated days; of that bright world,
And all the happy trains which that bright world
Inhabit, whither virtue's sons are gone:
While God the whole inspires, adorns, exalts;
The source, the end, the substance, and the soul.
This too the task, the bless'd, the useful task,
To invigour order, justice, law, and rule;
Peace to extend, and bid contention cease;
To teach the words of life; to lead mankind
Back from the wild of guilt and brink of wo
To virtue's house and family; faith, hope,
And joy to inspire; to warm the soul
With love to God and man; to cheer the sad,
To fix the doubting, rouse the languid heart;
The wandering to restore; to spread with down
The thorny bed of death; console the poor,
Departing mind, and aid its lingering wing.

To him her choicest pages Truth expands,
Unceasing, where the soul-entrancing scenes
Poetic fiction boasts are real all:

Where beauty, novelty, and grandeur wear
Superior charms, and moral worlds unfold
Sublimities transporting and divine.

Not all the scenes Philosophy can boast, Though them with nobler truths he ceaseless blends, Compare with these. They, as they found the mind, Still leave it; more inform'd, but not more wise. These wiser, nobler, better, make the man.

Thus every happy mean of solid good His life, his studies, and profession yield. With motives hourly new, each rolling day Allures, through wisdom's path and truth's fair field, His feet to yonder skies. Before him heaven Shines bright, the scope sublime of all his prayers, The meed of every sorrow, pain, and toil.

THE COUNTRY SCHOOLMASTER.*

WHERE yonder humble spire salutes the eye, Its vane slow-turning in the liquid sky, Where, in light gambols, healthy striplings sport, Ambitious learning builds her outer court; A grave preceptor, there, her usher stands, And rules without a rod her little bands. Some half-grown sprigs of learning graced his brow: Little he knew, though much he wish'd to know; Enchanted hung o'er VIRGIL's honey'd lay, And smiled to see desipient HORACE play; Glean'd scraps of Greek; and, curious, traced afar, Through Pore's clear glass the bright Mæonian star. Yet oft his students at his wisdom stared, For many a student to his side repair'd; Surprised, they heard him DILWORTH's knots untie, And tell what lands beyond the Atlantic lie.

Many his faults; his virtues small and few; Some little good he did, or strove to do; Laborious still, he taught the early mind, And urged to manners meek and thoughts refined; Truth he impress'd, and every virtue praised; While infant eyes in wondering silence gazed; The worth of time would day by day unfold, And tell them every hour was made of gold.

THE BATTLE OF AI.t

Now near the burning domes the squadrons stood, Their breasts impatient for the scenes of blood: On every face a death-like glimmer sate, The unbless'd harbinger of instant fate. [spires, High through the gloom, in pale and dreadful Rose the long terrors of the dark-red fires; Torches, and torrent sparks, by whirlwinds driven, Stream'd through the smoke, and fired the clouded heaven;

As oft tall turrets sunk, with rushing sound, Broad flames burst forth, and sweep the ethereal

round;

The bright expansion lighten'd all the scene,
And deeper shadows lengthen'd o'er the green.
Loud through the walls, that cast a golden gleam,
Crown'd with tall pyramids of bending flame,
As thunders rumble down the darkening vales,
Roll'd the deep, solemn voice of rushing gales:
The bands, admiring, saw the wondrous sight,
And expectation trembled for the fight.

At once the sounding clarion breathed alarms;
Wide from the forest burst the flash of arms;
Thick gleam'd the helms; and o'er astonish'd fields,
Like thousand meteors rose the flame-bright shields.
In gloomy pomp, to furious combat roll'd [gold;
Ranks sheath'd in mail, and chiefs in glimmering
In floating lustre bounds the dim-seen steed,
And cars unfinish'd, swift to cars succeed:
From all the host ascends a dark-red glare,
Here in full blaze, in distant twinklings there;

From "Greenfield Hill."

This and the three following extracts are from "The Conquest of Canaan."

Slow waves the dreadful light, as round the shore Night's solemn blasts with deep confusion roar: So rush'd the footsteps of the embattled train, And send an awful murmur o'er the plain.

Tall in the opposing van, bold IRAD stood, And bid the clarion sound the voice of blood. Loud blew the trumpet on the sweeping gales, Rock'd the deep groves, and echoed round the vales; A ceaseless murmur all the concave fills, Waves through the quivering camp, and trembles o'er the hills.

High in the gloomy blaze the standards flew ;
The impatient youth his burnish'd falchion drew;
Ten thousand swords his eager bands display'd,
And crimson terrors danced on every blade.
With equal rage, the bold, Hazorian train
Pour'd a wide deluge o'er the shadowy plain;
Loud rose the songs of war, loud clang'd the shields,
Dread shouts of vengeance shook the shuddering
fields;

With mingled din, shrill, martial music rings,
And swift to combat each fierce hero springs.
So broad, and dark, a midnight storm ascends,
Bursts on the main, and trembling nature rends;
The red foam burns, the watery mountains rise,
One deep, unmeasured thunder heaves the skies;
The bark drives lonely; shivering and forlorn,
The poor, sad sailors wish the lingering morn:
Not with less fury rush'd the vengeful train;
Not with less tumult roar'd the embattled plain.
Now in the oak's black shade they fought conceal'd;
And now they shouted through the open field;
The long, pale splendours of the curling flame
Cast o'er their polish'd arms a livid gleam;
An umber'd lustre floated round their way,
And lighted falchions to the fierce affray.
Now the swift chariots 'gainst the stubborn oak
Dash'd; and the earth re-echoes to the shock.
From shade to shade the forms tremendous stream,
And their arms flash a momentary flame.
Mid hollow tombs as fleets an airy train,
Lost in the skies, or fading o'er the plain;
So visionary shapes, around the fight,
Shoot through the gloom, and vanish from the sight;
Through twilight paths the maddening coursers
bound,

The shrill swords crack, the clashing shields resound.
There, lost in grandeur, might the eye behold
The dark-red glimmerings of the steel and gold;
The chief; the steed; the nimbly-rushing car;
And all the horrors of the gloomy war.

Here the thick clouds, with purple lustre bright, Spread o'er the long, long host, and gradual sunk

in night;

Here half the world was wrapp'd in rolling fires,
And dreadful valleys sunk between the spires.
Swift ran black forms across the livid flame,
And oaks waved slowly in the trembling beam:
Loud rose the mingled noise; with hollow sound,
Deep rolling whirlwinds roar, and thundering
flames resound.

As drives a blast along the midnight heath,
Rush'd raging IRAD on the scenes of death;
High o'er his shoulder gleam'd his brandish'd blade,
And scatter'd ruin round the twilight shade.