fore, in him uncultivated. Though accustomed, like the laborer, to split the unwedgeable and knotty oak,' he could not stoop to trim the vine or to train the flower. In his mind, the sentiment of the beautiful was overpowered by combinations derived from the useful and the just, But the truth that philosophy seeks, and the faith that Christianity imposes, held ever their high places in his soul. "We perceive in him a predominance of those virtues which give permanence to republics, indefatigable industry, opposition to luxury and extravagance, contempt of show and pretension, inflexible integrity, respect for men of degree, love of country, and fear of God. His was the intellectual and moral power, that would have arrested heterogeneous and fluctuating particles, and settled them into order and durability." Then follows some fine sketches of Chancellor Livingston, eminently distinguished as a scholar, orator, statesman, and diplomate, and held in grateful remembrance by bis country for his important services in extending its boundaries to the Pacific Ocean, and for the aid he afforded in proving the practicableness of its navigation by steam; and of Mr. Everett, the present governor of Massachusetts, who unites in so remarkable a manner the rare qualities of the profound scholar and the great statesman; and of Mr. Nicholas Biddle, who is another proof that the highest literary attainments are not incompatible with the most thorough knowledge of other subjects of a very different nature. To these are added, interesting notices of John Rutledge, the eloquent orator of South Carolina; of Henry Laurens, the eminent merchant of the same state, no less dear to his country for the proofs of his fidelity to her during his imprisonment in the tower of London, than for his services in presiding over her councils; of the brave Montgomery; the intrepid General G. R. Clark; the high minded Habersham; of Luther Martin, the great jurisconsult of Maryland; and of John Randolph, the brilliant Virginia orator. For a great number of others no less eminent, we must refer to the work itself; our object has been primarily to direct attention to it as a production of great importance to literature and the arts, and point out some few of the most striking of its generally well drawn sketches of the lives of our great men. Professional and general science and letters in like manner present their successful votaries to this temple of fame, to receive their laurels sprigs of asclepias are handed to Doctors Physic and Francis, and places assigned to them by the side of Hippocrates, and Galen, and Avicenna, and the founders of the medical school of Salernum. Say sits down by the side of Aristotle, and Pliny, and Linnaeus, and Cuvier-and Bowditch becomes a star of the first magnitude, in the new constellation La Place. We have named but a few only, of the long list of distinguished Americans, whose portraits are delineated, and whose lives are sketched in the volumes we have been examining; it would have been impossible to notice all; our great aim was to call attention chiefly to those, who remain to us only in the influenee which their illustrious deeds and characters have had upon their own, and are to have upon all future ages. We have said but little, therefore, of many individuals, who occupy a large place in our country's annals. Had the field been less immense, we could have gathered from it a richer harvest, with comparatively little labor to ourselves, and far more satisfaction to our readers. It may appear to some that too much time and space have been bestowed upon the work that we have had under review, but it can only appear so to those who are ignorant of its importance and value. Beside its great excellence as a work of art, it is admirably designed to cherish in our youth the principles of true American patriotism, to lead them to reflect on the generous devotedness of the men, who were ready to sacrifice every thing to resist oppression, and then crowned their labors, by securing union and strength to the country to which they had given freedom. In this view, we acknowledge that the object is but partially accomplished; there is many a niche in our temple of honor, which remains to be filled, and we doubt not that the conductors of the work will perceive and supply the deficiency, and it is evident that none could better effect so desirable an object. We close with again referring to the suggestion with which we began. Fifty years ago, within a few days, the American people bound themselves to each other by a solemn compact to form but one nation. Washington, in consenting to be placed at its head, gave the strongest possible guaranty, that the compact could be carried into successful execution; his oath to support the constitution of the United States was, in other words, an oath of allegiance to the people who had formed it and received it as the charter of their union. This solemn ceremony took place in our own good city. Let any one who would judge. rightly of the blessings which have flowed from this magna charta, and the happy union established by it, call to mind what New York and our country then were, and then look, and see what New York and our country now are. ART. V.-Select Minor Poems, translated from the German of Goethe and Schiller, with notes, by JOHN S. DWIGHT. BOSton: 1839. Hilliard, Gray, & Co. 12mo. pp. 439. THE German, of all the languages of modern Europe, is the most favorable to poetic composition. Its noble and beautiful structure may be almost said to lend a new charm to the wonderful conceptions of Shakspeare's mind; and the sublime thoughts of Milton may be recast in this mould, without losing any of their original grandeur. But great as are its facilities for the creations of the epic and dramatic muse, it is in the lyric that it displays beauties which distinguish it from all languages. Rich in rhymes, adapting itself to every measure; susceptible of the most graceful and various inversions and combinations; the greatest lyric poet of the world might wish that it had been his mother tongue. Unlike our own strongly expressive, though inflexible language, it seems to invite to versification; and whereas, in English, poetry is made, in German, it appears to make itself. The great works of Schiller and Goethe are becoming every day more and more universally known. The historic compositions of the one, and the romances of the other, have been widely circulated, and translations of Egmont, Maria Stuart, Don Carlos, Wilhelm Tell, and others, have from time to time enriched our dramatic literature. The translation of their lyric poems presented a more difficult, yet not less desirable labor; difficult, because the English language is not always suited to their measures, rhymes, words, and thoughts; and desirable, in that they are more characteristic of the spirit of German poetry, than any of their other productions. Poetry fills in the world of thought the same place as flowers in the physical universe. Every clime has its own peculiar plants; the brilliant productions of the tropic refuse to bloom amidst the ice and snows of the bleak north, while the pale and modest flowers of that region will droop and die in a more luxuriant soil, and beneath a warmer sky. But in the herbal, the splendid cactus, and the meek violet which unfolds itself in the brief Siberian summer, may alike be preserved; and though the hues of the one, and the scented breath of the other, are lost in the process, yet they retain enough of their form and color to reveal their nature to those who otherwise would scarcely have been aware of their existence. The universal mind has likewise its clime and soil; the spirits of the south and of the north are as unlike as the flowers of the torrid and of the frigid zones; but in the same manner their thoughts, originally moulded in different languages, may be made known to each other, though with the loss of much of their own freshness and beauty. Translations are, after all, but pressed flowers; yet they may unfold to us much that is new in the infinite variety of the thoughts of the human mind; and they may create in us a desire to visit the regions whence they came, and there to pluck the blossoms for ourselves. Of such flowers, Mr. Dwight has here presented us with a rich and beautiful bouquet. Among a number of smooth and flowing versions, our attention was first arrested by a new one of the "Song of the Bell," the finest lyric existing in any modern language, and perhaps the happiest of Schiller's compositions. Magnificent as are his dramas, we think that they contain nothing more unique, more faultless, than this beautiful poem of human life, from its commencement to its close. The helpless infant, "borne in the arms of slumber mild," the wayward boy, the lover, the husband, and the father, as they succeed each other, are all drawn therein with a master hand. The future and the past, the bright hopes and confidence of youth, and the wisdom of age are vividly contrasted with each other, yet so as to remind us that each in its time is equally natural and necessary; and the dreams and realities, the promise and fulfilment, the joys and sorrows of a whole existence, are embodied in verse which surely promises to be immortal. The measure, too, varies constantly with the scenes described, as the tones of the bell itself changing express the nature of the event which calls them forth. It first relates to us, in a soft and slow cadence, the birth of the child, his growth, his wanderings, his return to the paternal mansion, and his love. The measure becomes more brisk and animated as it tells us of the joyous peal of the wedding bells, and as the cares of married life, the farmer's toil, and the untiring industry of the thrifty housewife, succeed to the dream of youthful love. "The passion is fled, The fruit must mature; The husband must forth Into bustling life, Into labor and strife; He must plant, he must reap, He must gather and keep ; Must dare all, and bear all, And let no drop fall; Must plot and contrive, A fortune to hive. So rivers of plenty flow into his hand, His barns are o'er crammed with the fruits of the land; His rooms are made wide, his dwellings expand. And, busily moving, The modest young wife, And warning the boys, While her hand she employs Increasing the gains With her orderly pains. Neat, savory chests, with her treasures are full, The snowy white cotton, the soft glossy wool; And she smooths the bright skeins, while the spindle is turning ; Thus with taste and with beauty, her labor adorning." The scene of the conflagration, is described by a number of short quick lines, which follow each other in rapid succession, like the ringing strokes of the fire bell; and these again change to the slow, heavy, funeral toll, as we listen to the dirge of the departed wife and mother. "Ah! it is the wife, the dearest, Love may never warm it- never!" |