petus which forces them into action, so as to accomplish its purpose by the concentrated strength of human intellect directed to an attainable object.

When this principle is diffused through the medium of language, it imparts a portion of its own nature, commanding conviction, stimulating ardour, and rousing determined action; or, bursting upon the poetic soul like sunshine through the clouds of morning, it opens the book of nature, and reveals a new world of light, and loveliness, and glory. It creates not only conviction and approval, but actual sensation; and thrills through the awakened feelings, like those tremendous manifestations of physical force, which by the combined agency of different elements produce the most wonderful, and sometimes the most calamitous results.

Were it possible that in any human mind, its faculties could have a complete and evident existence and yet lie dormant, we should say of such a mind that power alone was wanting; but since there must be some power to stimulate the slightest voluntary act, we must speak of this faculty as being always present, and existing in a greater or a less degree. Persons deficient in this faculty and no other, are

always content to imitate; and as a proof that they possess the other requisites for successful exertion, they sometimes imitate with great ability and exactness, while they shrink from the very thought of attempting any thing without a model, from an internal consciousness of inability. That many venture to strike out into new paths without attaining anything like excellence, is owing to the want of some other mental quality; and that some continue to pursue such paths to their own shame, and the annoyance of their fellow creatures, arises from their enthusiasm, not from their power. Yet while many wander onin this eccentric course, without ever being aware of their inability to succeed, we believe that no man ever yet voluntarily commenced a deliberate undertaking, without some internal evidence of power, where it really did exist. A sudden effort is no test, because time is not allowed for the mind to examine its own resources; but the man who has this evidence, will work out his determined way, though all the world should pronounce him incompetent, and exclaim at his absurdity.

It may be asked, if this evidence always accompanies the possession of power, how is it

that certain individuals have not been aware of its existence until circumstances have called forth their energies? I answer, it is the test alone which brings this confidence to light; but even these individuals, for anything which history tell us to the contrary, may have had in their private walk precisely the same sensations on commencing any trifling undertaking, as afterwards accompanied their more public and splendid career. We are not told with what energy or skill Cincinnatus cultivated his farm, but we have no proof that he did not feel the same consciousness of power in conducting his agricultural pursuits, as in regulating the affairs of the commonwealth of Rome. Still it would be absurd to maintain that power always exists in the same mind in an equal degree. There are physical, as well as other causes why this should not be the case. There must to every individual, liable to human weakness and infirmity, be seasons when merely to think definitely, requires an effort— when desire fails, and the grasshopper becomes a burden; but when the poet speaks of the blissful moment of inspiration, we suppose it to be that in which all his highest faculties are in agreeable exercise, at the same time

that the operations of mental power are unimpeded.

Amongst our poets, those who display the greatest power of mind, are Milton, Pope, and Young. Had Young possessed the requisite of taste, he would perhaps have rivalled even Milton in power; but such is his choice of images and words, that by the frequent and sudden introduction of heterogeneous and inferior ideas, he nullifies what would otherwise be sublime, and by breaking the chain of association, strikes out, as it were, the keystone of the arch. Nor is this all. The ponderous magnitude of his images, heaped together without room for adjustment in the mind, resembles rather the accumulation of loose masses of uncemented granite, than the majestic mountain, of which each separate portion helps to constitute a mighty whole. Still we must acknowledge of this immortal poet, that his path was in the heavens, and that his soul was suited to the celestial sphere in which it seemed to live and expand as in its native element. We can feel no doubt that his own conceptions were magnificent as the stars amongst which his spirit wandered, and had his mode of conveying these conceptions to

the minds of others been equal to their own original sublimity, he would have stood preeminent amongst our poets in the region of power.

In order to prove that the poetry of Young is too massive and complex in its imagery to be within the compass of natural and ordinary association, it is unnecessary to quote many instances. Those who are most familiar with his writings-even his greatest admirers, must acknowledge, that in one line of his works, they often meet with matter, which if diffused and poetically enlarged upon, would fill pages, better calculated to please, as well as to instruct.

"How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
"How complicate, how wonderful is man!
"How passing wonder He who made him such!
"Who centr'd in our make such strange extremes !
"From different natures, marvellously mix'd,

"Connexion exquisite of different worlds!

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Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain!
Midway from nothing to the Deity!"

Thus far the mind may keep pace with the writer, and, especially by the last two lines, must be impressed with ideas at once clear, imaginative, and sublime. Those which immediately follow are less happy.