The springs of ancient wisdom! while I join
Thy name, thrice honour'd!' with th' immortal praise
Of Nature, while to my compatriot youth,

I point the high example of thy sons,

And tune to Attic themes the British lyre."

The second book of this fine poem has scarcely any ideas in common with Addison's essay. It opens with a lamentation that the works of imagination, such as painting, sculpture, poetry, &c. had in modern times been applied to monkish purposes, rather than to the philosophical uses of instructing and polishing society. With the justice of this lamentation, we have nothing to do. We may say, however, that we believe it to be more poetical than just; for with all our respect for ancient wisdom and genius, we believe that the imaginative arts have been as usefully and as worthily applied in modern times, as ever they were in the most flourishing period of Greece or Rome. But while we question the accuracy of our bard's opinions on this topic, we must do justice to the excellent poetry of the strains in which he maintains them.

A large portion of this book is occupied by an allegorical episode, illustrative of the opinion that all the natural passions, hate, grief, anger, fear, &c., as well as love, joy, gratitude, hope, &c., are capable of communicating pleasing emotions. Thus the indulgence of grief for the death of a beloved object, imparts a satisfaction to the mind which it would often not exchange for excitements of the most joyous description. The incidents of the allegory may be related,

for they are few, although the narrative is, by a wonderful propensity to amplification, extended to an unreasonable, and we fear it has often been felt, an unpleasant length. An ancient sage, named Harmodius, wanders into the solitude of a wild wood to grieve for the death of Parthenia. There, as he indulges in feelings of fretfulness concerning the condition of man, a majestic form appears to him, whom he knows to be the genius of human kind,—

"Whose words,

Like distant thunders, broke the murmuring air." After reproving Harmodius for his murmuring against Providence, the genius tells him to

"Raise his sight,

And let his sense convince his erring tongue."

The scene is changed in its various features to correspond with the lesson which the genius now gives to his awe-struck auditor, concerning the will of the Creator, in the origin of things, and in framing the laws by which the universe is governed :

"His parent hand

From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore
To men, to angels, to celestial minds,

Forever leads the generations on

To higher scenes of being; while supplied
From day to day with his enlivening breath,
Inferior orders in succession rise,

To fill the void below."

The genius then exhibits to him the vision of Virtue, as a beautiful goddess,

"Without whose work divine, in heaven or earth,
Naught lovely, naught propitious comes to pass,
Nor hope, nor praise, nor honour."

With Virtue, the goddess of Pleasure, called "the

fair Euphrosyne," appears.

Between them is seen

"A smiling youth,

Whose tender cheeks display'd the vernal flower

Of beauty; sweetest innocence illumed

His bashful eyes, and on his polish'd brow

Sate young simplicity."

This youth represents human nature. With much admiration he views both the goddesses. But Euphrosyne draws by far the greater share of his attention, so that her more dignified and exalted associate, finding herself comparatively neglected, addresses the Divine Power on the subject:

"This enchanting maid,

The associate thou hast given me, her alone
He loves, O Father! absent, her he craves :
And but for her glad presence ever join❜d,
Rejoices not in mine: that all my hopes,
This thy benignant purpose to fulfil,

I deem uncertain."

The Divine Power replies, that if man refuses to hearken to her dictates, or transfers to any other the homage due to her alone, the alluring Euphrosyne shall be prevented from accompanying her; and in her stead the genius of Pain shall be sent :

"The fiend abhorr'd! whose vengeance takes account Of sacred order's violated laws."

The disagreeable substitute is accordingly made, and the youth thus is at once punished for his imprudence, and driven to repentance. The monster" Pain" rushes upon him with fearful ferocity. The youth is struck with consternation and terror. Virtue hastens forward to save him :

"Soon the tyrant felt
Her awful power. His keen tempestuous arm
Hung nerveless, nor descended where his rage
Had aim'd the deadly blows then dumb retired
With sullen rancour. Lo! the sovereign maid
Folds with a mother's arms the fainting boy,

Till life rekindles in his rosy cheek."

She then cheers him in a beautiful and consoling expostulation. She tells him that, although he had so ardently placed his desires on the divine Euphrosyne, to the neglect of the higher aims and duties of his being, which she alone was empowered to reveal to him, yet he might fear nothing from the monster, whom she would enable him to overcome, if he would only confront him with due energy and courage :

"Vehement and swift

As lightning fires the aromatic shade
In Ethiopian fields, the stripling felt
Her inspiration catch his fervid soul."

He avows his determination henceforward to yield firm obedience to the Divine will, through all scenes of either toil or peril. Yet he pleads for the return of his beloved Euphrosyne, and for this he addresses a prayer to Heaven, which is granted, and Euphro

syne returns to him, with a declaration that, while he confides in the aid of Virtue, she shall never leave him to the assaults of the fiend whose fierce malignity he had just experienced. The vision of the goddesses and the youth then vanishes, and Harmodius is addressed by the genius :

"There let thy soul acknowledge its complaints,

How blind! how impious! There behold the ways
Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man,

Forever just, benevolent, and wise:

That Virtue's awful steps, howe'er pursued

By vexing fortune and intrusive pain,

Should never be divided from her chaste,

Her fair attendant Pleasure."

The genius continues to inculcate that pleasure is derivable, by the virtuous man, from all conditions in which he can be placed, and from all the passions by which he can be actuated :

"Ask the faithful youth,

Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved,

So often fills his arms; so often draws

His lonely footsteps at the silent hour,
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears?
O! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds
Would ne'er seduce his bosom to forget
That sacred hour, when stealing from the noise
Of care and envy, sweet remonstrance soothes,
With virtue's kindest looks, his aching breast,
And turns his tears to rapture."

The third book of the poem scarcely equals the preceding two, in the elevation and boldness of its