We now give a few stanzas "On Domestic Happiness." They appear in striking contrast with the verses "On the Death of Drake." The one exhibits the simple pathos of which the poet is capable, and the other will serve to show the playfulness of his fancy.

I.

"Beside the nuptial curtain bright,"
The bard of Eden sings,

"Young love his constant lamp will light,
"And wave his purple wings."

But rain-drops from the clouds of care
May bid that lamp be dim,

And the boy Love will pout and swear
'Tis then no place for him.

II.

So mused the lovely Mrs. Dash;
'Tis wrong to mention names;
When for her surly husband's cash
She urged in vain her claims.
"I want a little money, dear,

"For Vandervoort and Flandin
"Their bill, which now has run a year,
"To-morrow mean to hand in."

III.

"More?" cried the husband, half asleep,
"You'll drive me to despair!"
The lady was too proud to weep,
And too polite to swear.

She bit her lips in very spite:

He felt a storm was brewing,

And dreamed of nothing else all night

But brokers, banks, and ruin.

IV.

He thought her pretty once, but dreams

Have sure a wondrous power,

For to his eye the lady seems

Quite altered since that hour

And Love, who on their bridal eve

Had promised long to stay,

Forgot his promise, took French leave-
And bore his lamp away.

The foregoing extracts are not, by any means, the most favourable specimens of Halleck's poems. We have selected them, partly for the purpose of giving an idea of the different styles which mark his compositions; and partly on account of their brevity, the limits of a review not always admitting the insertion of long extracts. "Alnwick Castle," and "Marco Bozzaris," are already too familiar to the reader, to require farther notice from us. They have been circulated widely in VOL. XVIII.-NO. 37. 15

America, and republished in England, and have received the favourable remarks of competent critics in both countries. In the volume before us, there are some poems in the Spenserian stanza-that most beautiful of all measures for narration or description-which would induce us to augur well of an effort by Mr. Halleck, in that branch of poetry. He has, however, never written at least he has never published-any work of sufficient importance as to length, to establish his fame upon a permanent basis, but seems to be satisfied with a comparatively ephemeral reputation. We regret this, because we believe he is better competent to the execution of such a task, than any other American poet. His general learning may not be so extensive as that of some who might be mentioned, but his judgment is sound and his taste correct; his imagination is exuberant, and withal so well disciplined, that he would not be in danger of involving himself in the labyrinth of mysticism, in which the writings of some of our modern Lakists are inextricably involved. We recommend Mr. Halleck's book to the perusal of our readers.

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE, the author of the second work named at the head of this article, had hardly started into public notice, when, at the early age of twenty-five years, he died.

In 1819, a series of Pindaric odes was published in one of the New York journals, with the signature of Croaker and Co., which excited much public attention. They were full of playful humour; sometimes keenly satirical; and being of that local character which raises individual curiosity, many efforts were made to discover the authors. These exertions were, after a time successful, and the partners composing the firm of Croaker and Co. appeared in propriis personis, under their lawful titles of Fitz Greene Halleck, and Joseph Rodman Drake.

Thus did the merits of the two friends first dawn upon the public, and from that moment we may date the commencement of their poetical reputation. But a short time elapsed from this period until the death of Drake-we believe not more than a year-and it was not until that event that his lyric poems were published in a collected form. It is to such a collection that our attention is now drawn.

The poem which commences the volume before us, is entitled "The Culprit Fay." It is a fairy tale, told with great spirit and playfulness. The following is a brief outline of the story.

The scene is laid at the "Crow Nest," on the Hudson, near West Point; the time midnight, "the dawn of the fairy day." The elfin sentinel sounds upon his bell, a signal to the fairy habitants of the region to meet at their nightly revels; and when they issue from their resting places, in obedience to the summons, the poem tells us

"They come from beds of lichen green,
They creep from the mullen's velvet screen;
Some on the backs of beetles fly

From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,

Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high,
And rocked about in the evening breeze;

Some from the humbird's downy nest-
They had driven him out by elfin power,

And pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast,
Had slumbered there till the charmed hour;
Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,

With glittering ising-stars inlaid;

And some had opened the four o'clock,
And stole within its purple shade-
And now they throng the moonlight glade,
Above-below-on every side,

Their little minim forms arrayed

In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!"

The fairies are called on this occasion to attend the court of their sovereign. It had been discovered that an ouphe had broken his vestal vow, by falling in love with an earthly maid. This was a deadly crime, and cried loudly for punishment; and the royal fay had summoned his lords and commons to be present, when the doom was pronounced on the unhappy culprit. The scene of judgment is then described. The monarch is seated on his throne, surrounded by peers and privy counsellors. The prisoner stands before him, awaiting the knowledge of his fate. The king commences his speech, previously to passing sentence, in these words

"Fairy! Fairy! list and mark,

Thou hast broke thine elfin chain,

Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,
And thy wings are dyed with a deadly stain-
Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity

In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye,
Thou hast scorned our dread decree,
And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high,

But well I know the sinless mind
Is pure as the angel forms above,
Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind,
Such as a spirit well might love”-

His majesty goes on to observe, that had the maiden been stained with the slightest spot or blemish, the culprit fay should have received a bitter punishment--such, for instance, as being tied fast to a hornet's wings-run through and through with the stings of nettles-imprisoned at hard labour in a walnut shell, to be fed and clothed as the law directs--thrown into a dungeon of cobwebs, among the carrion remains of murdered bugs and assassinated flies, with a spider for a jailer-besides

various other tortures, the awful severity of which may be more easily conceived than described. In consideration, however, of the spotless purity of the maid, and the comparative lightness of the crime, a milder punishment should be inflicted. We have here the doom of the criminal

"Thou shalt seek the beach of sand

Where the water bounds the elfin land,
Thou shalt watch the oozy brine

Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine,
Then dart the glistening arch below,
And catch a drop from his silver bow.
The water spirits will wield their arms
And dash around with roar and rave,
And vain are the woodland spirits' charms,
They are the imps that rule the wave.
Yet trust thee in thy single might,

If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right,
Thou shalt win the warlock fight."

The king, in continuation, tells the culprit fay, that if he suc ceeds in gaining the "spray-bead gem," part of the sin will be washed away--but that still another task must be accomplished before his crime can be entirely atoned for, and his character as a goblin of honour completely re-established. It appears that his fairy lamp has been extinguished, and it is absolutely necessary that it should be rekindled. The sovereign therefore informs him, that after the first task is accomplished, he must mount his steed and ride up into the sky; and the first shooting star that he sees, he must clap spurs to his charger, make after it, and try to run it down-that having lighted the flame of his elfin torch from the fire of the meteor, he shall be considered as having repaired the wrongs done to the national dignity, and thereupon be restored to the royal favour.

The culprit bows low to his liege lord, and starts upon his journey; but the way is long and wearisome, and he finds that he cannot fly, his wings having lost their power. He is, therefore obliged to travel on foot, down the mountain, over bushes and through swamps, until he becomes wofully scratched with briars and begrimed with mud. He is about to sink on the ground, from exhaustion, when he espies a toad before himwhereupon, he pulls up some grass, and having manufactured it into a bridle, puts it between the toad's teeth-he then cuts a switch from a bush, and not having a saddle at hand, bestrides his steed, and rides, bare back, down the hill to the river's edge. The elfin then dismounts, and reconnoitres the premises after securing his wings, so that they will not interfere with his motions in the water, he climbs a rock, breathes a prayer, and plunges headlong into the river.

"Up sprung the spirits of the waves,

From the sea-silk beds in their coral caves;
With snail-plate armour snatched in haste,

They speed their way through the liquid waste.
Some are rapidly borne along

On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong;
Some on the blood-red leeches glide,
Some on the stony star-fish ride,

Some on the back of the lancing squab,
Some on the sideling soldier crab;
And some on the jellied quarl, that flings
At once a thousand streamy stings-
They cut the wave with the living oar
And hurry on to the moonlight shore,
To guard their realms and chase away
The footsteps of the invading fay."

The bold fay swims fearlessly through the waves, full of hope, and resolved to win the gem he is seeking. But the spirits of the waters assemble in great numbers, and hem him in on every side. The leech takes hold of his leg. The quarl wraps around him his long arms-the prong pierces his flesh-the star-fish rubs off his hide-the squab lets fly his javelin, and the crab claws and pinches, until the tortured elfin howls with pain and fury. After a desperate fight he takes to flight and makes for land. His enemies pursue in crowds-they cross his path, and throw up the waves before him-they fling seafire in his eyes, and stun his ears with horrible noises-the porpoise roars the drum-fish croaks,

"Oh! but a weary wight was he

When he reached the foot of the dog-wood tree."

Gashed, and wounded, and sore, he lies down upon the sand, and hears the little devils in the water, giggling and laughing at his piteous condition. But the fay is not disheartened, and gathering some cobwebs, he stanches the flowing blood, and binds up his wounds with leaves of sorrel. Then taking a draught of calamus juice, he feels his strength renewed, and again he is ready for the contest.

The night is fast wasting away, and before the dawn of day his task must be accomplished. But how to do it--he glances around him, and swells with joy, when, glittering on the ground before him, he espies a muscle shell. He runs up to it, and heaving first at the bow, then at the stern, he succeeds, by an almost incredible exertion of strength, in pushing it over the sand to the water's edge. He cuts a notch in the stern, for a scull; and having made a bootle blade into an oar, springs into his seat and launches his bark upon the waves,

"The imps of the river yell and rave;

They had no power above the wave,