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are passages of beauty which it would be difficult to find surpassed.

About this period Mr. HILLHOUSE passed three years in Boston, preparing to engage in a mercantile life. During the interruption of business which took place in consequence of the last war with England, he employed a season of leisure passed at home, in the composition of several dramatic pieces, of which "Demetria" and "Percy's Masque" best satisfied his own judgment. When peace was restored, he went to New York, and embarked in commerce, to which, though at variance with his tastes, he devoted himself with fidelity and perseverance. In 1819, he visited Europe, and though the months passed there were a season of great anxiety and business occupations, he still found time to see much to enlarge his mind, and accumulated stores of thought for future use. Among other distinguished literary men, from whom while in London he received attentions, was ZACARY MACAULAY, (father of the Hon. T. BABBINGTON MACAULAY,) who subsequently stated to some American gentlemen, that "he considered Mr. HILLHOUSE the most accomplished young man with whom he was acquainted." It was during his stay in England that "Percy's Masque" was revised and published. The subject of this drama is the successful attempt of one of the Percies, the son of Shakspeare's Hotspur, to recover his ancestral home. The era chosen is a happy one for a poet. He is dealing with the events of an age where every thing to us is clothed with a romantic interest, which invests even the most common every-day occurrences of life.

"They carved at the meal

With gloves of steel,

And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd." Of this opportunity he fully availed himself, in the picture he has here given us of the days of chivalry. As a mere work of art, "Percy's Masque" is one of the most faultless in the language. If subjected to scrutiny, it will bear the strictest criticism by which compositions of this kind can be tried. We cannot detect the violation of a single rule which should be observed in the construction of a tragedy. When, therefore, it was republished in this country, it at once gave its author an elevated rank as a dramatic poet.

In 1822, Mr. HILLHOUSE was united in marriage to CORNELIA, eldest daughter of ISAAC LAWRENCE, of New York. He shortly afterward returned to his native town, and there, at his beautiful place, called Sachem's Wood, devoted himself to the pursuits of a country gentleman and practical agriculturist. His taste extended also to the arts with which poetry is allied; and in the embellishment of his residence, there was exhibited evidence of the refinement of its accomplished occupant. Here, with the exception of a few months of the winter, generally spent in New York, he passed the remainder of his life. "And never," remarks his friend, the Reverend Mr. KIPP, "has a domestic circle been anywhere gathered, uniting within itself more of grace, and elegance, and intellect. He who formed its centre and its

charm, possessed a character combining most beautifully the high endowments of literary genius, with all that is winning and brilliant in social life. They who knew him best in the sacred relations of his own fireside, will never cease to realize, that in him their circle lost its greatest ornament. All who were accustomed to meet his cordial greeting, to listen to his fervid and eloquent conversation, to be delighted with the wit and vivacity of his playful moments; to witness the grace and elegance of his manners, the chivalric spirit, the indomitable energy and high finish of the whole character, can tell how nobly he united the combined attractions of the poet, the scholar, and the perfect gentleman. Never, indeed, have we met with one who could pour forth more eloquently his treasures, drawn from the whole range of English literature, or bring them to bear more admirably upon the passing occurrences of the day. Every syllable, too, which he uttered, conveyed the idea of a high-souled honour, which we associate more naturally with the days of old romance, than with these selfish, prosaic times. His were indeed high thoughts, seated in a heart of courtesy.'

66

Hadad" was written in 1824, and printed in the following year. This has generally been esteemed HILLHOUSE's masterpiece. As a sacred drama, it is probably unsurpassed. The scene is in Judea, in the days of David; and as the agency of evil spirits is introduced, an opportunity is afforded to bring forward passages of strange sublimity and wildness. For a work like this, HILLHOUSE was peculiarly qualified. A most intimate acquaintance with the Scriptures enabled him to introduce each minute detail in perfect keeping with historical truth, while from the same study he seems also to have imbibed the lofty thoughts, and the majestic style of the ancient Hebrew prophets.

In 1840, he collected, and published in two volumes, the works which at that time he was willing to give to the world. In addition to those I have already mentioned, was "Demetria," a domestic tragedy, now first revised and printed, after an interval of twenty-six years since its first composition, and several orations, delivered in New Haven, on public occasions, or before literary societies in other parts of the country. The manly eloquence of the latter, is well calculated to add the reputation of an accomplished orator, to that which he already enjoyed as a poet. These volumes contain nearly all that he left us. It is a mistake, however, to suppose that he passed his life merely as a literary man. The early part of it was spent in the anxieties of business, while, through all his days, literature, instead of being his occupation, was merely the solace and delight of his leisure moments.

About this time his friends beheld, with anxiety, the symptoms of failing health. For fifteen months, however, he lingered on, alternately cheering their hearts by the prospect of recovery, and then causing them again to despond, as his weakness increased. In the fall of 1840, he left home

for the last time, to visit his friends in Boston. He returned, apparently benefited by the excursion, and no immediate danger was apprehended until the beginning of the following January. On the second of that month his disorder assumed an alarming form, and the next day was passed in intense agony. On Monday, his pain was alleviated; yet his skilful medical attendants beheld in this but the precursor of death; and it became their duty, on the following morning, to impart to him the news that his hours were few and numbered.

"Of the events of this solemn day, when he beheld the sands of life fast running out, and girded up his strength to meet the King of Terrors," says the writer to whom I have before alluded, "I cannot speak. The loss is still too recent to allow us to withdraw the veil and tell of his dying hours. Yet touching was the scene, as the warm affections of that noble heart gathered in close folds around those he was about to leave, or wandered back in remembrance to the opening of life, and the friends of childhood who had already gone. It was also the Christian's death. The mind which had conceived so vividly the scenes of the judgment, must often have looked forward to that hour, which he now could meet in an humble, trusting faith. And thus the day wore on, until, about eight o'clock in the evening, without a struggle, he fell asleep."

As a poet, he possessed qualities seldom found united a masculine strength of mind, and a most delicate perception of the beautiful. With an imagination of the loftiest order-with "the vision and the faculty divine" in its fullest exercise, the wanderings of his fancy were chastened and controlled by exquisite taste. The grand

characteristic of his writings is their classical beauty. Every passage is polished to the utmost, yet there is no exuberance, no sacrifice to false and meretricious taste. He threw aside the gaudy and affected brilliancy with which too many set forth their poems, and left his to stand, like the doric column, charming by its simplicity. Writing not for present popularity, or to catch the senseless applause of the multitude, he was willing to commit his works-as Lord Bacon did his memory" to the next ages." And the result is proving how wise were his calculations. The "fit audience," which at first hailed his poems with pleasure, from realizing their worth, has been steadily increasing. The scholar studies them as the productions of a kindred spirit, which had drunk deeply at the fountains of ancient lore, until it had itself been moulded into the same form of stern and antique beauty, which marked the old Athenian dramatists. The intellectual and the gifted claim him as one of their own sacred brotherhood; and all who have a sympathy with genius, and are anxious to hold communion with it as they travel on the worn and beaten path of life, turn with ever renewed delight to his pages. They see the evidences of one, who wrote not because he must write, but because he possessed a mind crowded and glowing with images of beauty, and therefore, in the language of poetry, he poured forth its hoarded treasures. Much as we must lament the withdrawal of that bright mind, at an age when it had just ripened into the maturity of its power, and when it seemed ready for greater efforts than it yet had made, we rejoice that the event did not happen until a permanent rank had been gained among the noblest of our poets.

THE JUDGMENT.

I.

THE rites were past of that auspicious day When white-robed altars wreath'd with living green Adorn the temples;-when unnumber'd tongues Repeat the glorious anthem sung to harps

Of angels while the star o'er Bethlehem stood;-
When grateful hearts bow low, and deeper joy
Breathes in the Christian than the angel song,
On the great birthday of our Priest and King.
That night, while musing on his wondrous life,
Precepts, and promises to be fulfill'd,
A trance-like sleep fell on me, and a dream
Of dreadful character appall'd my soul.
Wild was the pageant:-face to face with kings,
Heroes, and sages of old note, I stood;
Patriarchs, and prophets, and apostles saw,
And venerable forms, ere round the globe
Shoreless and waste a weltering flood was roll'd,
With angels, compassing the radiant throne
Of MARY's Son, anew descended, crown'd
With glory terrible, to judge the world.

II.

Methought I journey'd o'er a boundless plain, Unbroke by vale or hill, on all sides stretch'd, Like circling ocean, to the low-brow'd sky; Save in the midst a verdant mount, whose sides Flowers of all hues and fragrant breath adorn'd. Lightly I trod, as on some joyous quest, Beneath the azure vault and early sun; But while my pleased eyes ranged the circuit green, New light shone round; a murmur came, confused, Like many voices and the rush of wings. Upward I gazed, and, 'mid the glittering skies, Begirt by flying myriads, saw a throne Whose thousand splendours blazed upon the earth Refulgent as another sun. Through clouds They came, and vapours colour'd by AURORA, Mingling in swell sublime, voices, and harps, And sounding wings, and hallelujahs sweet. Sudden, a seraph that before them flew, Pausing upon his wide-unfolded plumes, Put to his mouth the likeness of a trump, And toward the four winds four times fiercely

breathed.

Doubling along the arch, the mighty peal

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To heaven resounded; hell return'd a groan,
And shuddering earth a moment reel'd, confounded,
From her fixed pathway as the staggering ship,
Stunn'd by some mountain billow, reels. The isles,
With heaving ocean, rock'd: the mountains shook
Their ancient coronets: the avalanche
Thunder'd: silence succeeded through the nations.
Earth never listen'd to a sound like this.
It struck the general pulse of nature still,
And broke, forever, the dull sleep of death.

III.

Now, o'er the mount the radiant legions hung,
Like plumy travellers from climes remote
On some sequester'd isle about to stoop.
Gently its flowery head received the throne;
Cherubs and seraphs, by ten thousands, round
Skirting it far and wide, like a bright sea,
Fair forms and faces, crowns, and coronets,
And glistering wings furl'd white and numberless.
About their LORD were those seven glorious spirits
Who in the ALMIGHTY's presence stand. Four
lean'd

On golden wands, with folded wings, and eyes
Fix'd on the throne: one bore the dreadful books,
The arbiters of life: another waved
The blazing ensign terrible, of yore,

To rebel angels in the wars of heaven:

What seem'd a trump the other spirit grasp'd,

Of wondrous size, wreathed multiform and strange.

Illustrious stood the seven, above the rest
Towering, like a constellation glowing,

That, like a zodiac, thick with emblems set, Flash'd wondrous beams, of unknown character, From many a burning stone of lustre rare, Stain'd like the bow whose mingling splendour stream'd

Confusion bright upon the dazzled eye.

Above him hung a canopy whose skirts
The mount o'ershadow'd like an evening cloud."
Clouds were his curtains: not like their dim types
Of blue and purple round the tabernacle,
That waving vision of the lonely wild,
By pious Israel wrought with cherubim;
Veiling the mysteries of old renown,
Table, and altar, ark, and mercy-seat,
Where, 'twixt the shadow of cherubic wings,
In lustre visible JEHOVAH shone.

VI.

In honour chief, upon the LORD's right hand His station MICHAEL held: the dreadful sword That from a starry baldric hung, proclaim'd The Hierarch. Terrible, on his brow Blazed the archangel crown, and from his eye Thick sparkles flash'd. Like regal banners, waved Back from his giant shoulders his broad vans, Bedropt with gold, and, turning to the sun, Shone gorgeous as the multitudinous stars, Or some illumined city seen by night, When her wide streets pour noon, and, echoing

through

Her thronging thousands, mirth and music ring.
Opposed to him, I saw an angel stand

What time the sphere-instructed huntsman, taught In sable vesture, with the Books of Life.

By ATLAS, his star-studded belt displays Aloft, bright-glittering, in the winter sky.

IV.

Then on the mount, amidst these glorious shapes, Who reverent stood, with looks of sacred awe, I saw EMMANUEL seated on his throne. His robe, methought, was whiter than the light; Upon his breast the heavenly Urim glow'd Bright as the sun, and round such lightnings flash'd, No eye could meet the mystic symbol's blaze. Irradiant the eternal sceptre shone Which wont to glitter in his Father's hand: Resplendent in his face the Godhead beam'd, Justice and mercy, majesty and grace, Divinely mingling. Celestial glories play'd Around with beamy lustre; from his eye Dominion look'd; upon his brow was stamp'd Creative power. Yet over all the touch Of gracious pity dwelt, which, erst, amidst Dissolving nature's anguish, breathed a prayer For guilty man. Redundant down his neck His locks roll'd graceful, as they waved, of old, Upon the mournful breeze of Calvary.

V.

His throne of heavenly substance seem'd composed,

Whose pearly essence, like the eastern shell,
Or changeful opal, shed a silvery light.
Clear as the moon it look'd through ambient clouds
Of snowy lustre, waving round its base,

Black was his mantle, and his changeful wings Gloss'd like the raven's; thoughtful seem'd his

mien,

Sedate and calm, and deep upon his brow
Had Meditation set her seal; his eyes
Look'd things unearthly, thoughts unutterable,
Or utter'd only with an angel's tongue.
Renown'd was he among the seraphim
For depth of prescience, and sublimest lore;
Skill'd in the mysteries of the ETERNAL,
Profoundly versed in those old records where,
From everlasting ages, live Gon's deeds;
He knew the hour when yonder shining worlds,
That roll around us, into being sprang;
Their system, laws, connexion; all he knew
But the dread moment when they cease to be.
None judged like him the ways of Gon to man,
Or so had ponder'd; his excursive thoughts
Had visited the depths of night and chaos,
Gathering the treasures of the hoary deep.

VII.

Like ocean billows seem'd, ere this, the plain, Confusedly heaving with a sumless host From earth's and time's remotest bounds: a roar Went up before the multitude, whose course The unfurl'd banner guided, and the bow, Zone of the universe, athwart the zenith Sweeping its arch. In one vast conflux roll'd, Wave following wave, were men of every age, Nation, and tongue; all heard the warning blast, And, led by wondrous impulse, hither came.

JAMES A. HILLHOUSE.

Mingled in wild confusion, now, those met
In distant ages born. Gray forms, that lived
When Time himself was young, whose temples
shook

The hoary honours of a thousand years,
Stood side by side with Roman consuls:-here,
Mid prophets old, and heaven-inspired bards,
Were Grecian heroes seen :-there, from a crowd
Of reverend patriarchs, tower'd the nodding
plumes,

Tiars, and helms, and sparkling diadems
Of Persia's, Egypt's, or Assyria's kings;
Clad as when forth the hundred gates of Thebes
On sounding cars her hundred princes rush'd;
Or, when, at night, from off the terrace top
Of his aerial garden, touched to soothe
The troubled monarch, came the solemn chime
Of sackbut, psaltery, and harp, adown
The Euphrates, floating in the moonlight wide
O'er sleeping Babylon. For all appear'd
As in their days of earthly pride; the clank
Of steel announced the warrior, and the robe
Of Tyrian lustre spoke the blood of kings.
Though on the angels while I gazed, their names
Appeared not, yet amongst the mortal throng
(Capricious power of dreams!) familiar seem'd
Each countenance, and every name well known.

VIII.

Nearest the mount, of that mix'd phalanx first,
Our general parent stood: not as he look'd
Wandering, at eve, amid the shady bowers
And odorous groves of that delicious garden,
Or flowery banks of some soft-rolling stream,
Pausing to list its lulling murmur, hand
In hand with peerless EvE, the rose too sweet,
Fatal to Paradise. Fled from his cheek
The bloom of Eden; his hyacinthine locks
Were changed to gray; with years and sorrows
bow'd

He seem'd, but through his ruined form still shone
The majesty of his Creator: round
Upon his sons a grieved and pitying look
He cast, and in his vesture hid his face.

IX.

Close at his side appear'd a martial form,
Of port majestic, clad in massive arms,
Cowering above whose helm with outspread wings
The Roman eagle flew; around its brim

Was character'd the name at which earth's queen
Bow'd from her seven-fold throne and owned her
lord.

In his dilated eye amazement stood;
Terror, surprise, and blank astonishment
Blanch'd his firm cheek, as when, of old, close
hemm'd

Within the capitol, amidst the crowd

Of traitors, fearless else, he caught the gleam
Of BRUTUS' steel. Daunted, yet on the pomp
Of towering seraphim, their wings, their crowns,
Their dazzling faces, and upon the LORD
He fix'd a steadfast look of anxious note,
Like that PHARSALIA's hurtling squadrons drew
When all his fortunes hung upon the hour.

X.

Near him, for wisdom famous through the east,
ABRAHAM rested on his staff; in guise

A Chaldee shepherd, simple in his raiment
As when at Mamre in his tent he sat,
The host of angels. Snow-white were his locks
And silvery beard, that to his girdle roll'd.
Like one, that, after long and troubled dreams,
Fondly his meek eye dwelt upon his LORD,
A night of sorrows, dreary, wild, and sad,
Beholds, at last, the dawn of promised joys.
With kindred looks his great descendant gazed.
Not in the poor array of shepherds he,
Nor in the many-coloured coat, fond gift
Of doating age, and cause of direful hate;
But, stately, as his native palm, his form
Was, like Egyptian princes', proudly deck'd
In tissued purple sweeping to the ground.
Plumes from the desert waved above his head,
And down his breast the golden collar hung,
Bestow'd by PHARAOH, when through Egypt word
Went forth to bow the knee as to her king.
Graced thus, his chariot with impetuous wheels
Bore him toward Goshen, where the fainting heart
Of ISRAEL waited for his long-lost son,
The son of RACHEL. Ah! had she survived
To see him in his glory!-As he rode,
His boyhood, and his mother's tent, arose,
And JOSEPH's heart was in the tomb by Ephrath.
Link'd with a thousand recollections dear,

XI.

At hand, a group of sages mark'd the scene.
PLATO and SOCRATES together stood,
With him who measured by their shades those piles
Gigantic, 'mid the desert seen, at eve,

By toiling caravans for Memphis bound,
Peering like specks above the horizon's verge,
Whose huge foundations vanish in the mist
Of earliest time. Transfix'd they seem'd with
wonder,

Awe-struck,-amazement rapt their inmost souls.
Such glance of deep inquiry and suspense
They threw around, as, in untutor❜d ages,
Astronomers upon some dark eclipse,
Close counselling amidst the dubious light
If it portended Nature's death, or spoke
A change in heaven. What thought they, then,
of all

Their idle dreams, their proud philosophy,
When on their wilder'd souls redemption, CHRIST,
And the ALMIGHTY broke? But, though they err'd
When all was dark, they reason'd for the truth.
They sought in earth, in ocean, and the stars,
Their maker, arguing from his works toward God;
And from his word had not less nobly argued,
Had they beheld the gospel sending forth
Its pure effulgence o'er the farthest sea,
Lighting the idol mountain-tops, and gilding
The banners of salvation there.
These men
Ne'er slighted a REDEEMER; of his name
They never heard. Perchance their late-found
harps,

Mixing with angel symphonies, may sound
In strains more rapturous things to them so new.

XII.

Nearer the mount stood MOSES; in his hand The rod which blasted with strange plagues the

realm

Of Misraim, and from its time-worn channels
Upturn'd the Arabian sea. Fair was his broad,
High front, and forth from his soul-piercing eye
Did legislation took; which full he fix'd
Upon the blazing panoply, undazzled.

No terrors had the scene for him who, oft,
Upon the thunder-shaken hill-top, veil'd
With smoke and lightnings, with JEHOVAH talk'd,
And from his fiery hand received the law.
Beyond the Jewish ruler, banded close,
A company full glorious, I saw

The twelve apostles stand. O, with what looks
Of ravishment and joy, what rapturous tears,
What hearts of ecstasy, they gazed again
On their beloved Master! what a tide
Of overwhelming thoughts press'd to their souls,
When now, as he so frequent promised, throned,
And circled by the hosts of heaven, they traced
The well-known lineaments of him who shared

Their wants and sufferings here! Full many a day
Of fasting spent with him, and night of prayer,
Rush'd on their swelling hearts. Before the rest,
Close to the angelic spears, had PETER urged,
Tears in his eye, love throbbing at his breast,
As if to touch his vesture, or to catch
The murmur of his voice. On him and them
JESUS beam'd down benignant looks of love.

XIII.

How diverse from the front sublime of PAUL,
Or pale and placid dignity of him
Who in the lonely Isle saw heaven unveil'd,
Was his who in twelve summers won a world!
Not such his countenance nor garb, as when
He foremost breasted the broad Granicus,
Dark-rushing through its steeps from lonely Ida,
His double-tufted plume conspicuous mark
Of every arrow; cheering his bold steed
Through pikes, and spears, and threatening axes, up
The slippery bank through all their chivalry,
Princes and satraps link'd for CYRUS' throne,
With cuirass pierced, cleft helm, and plumeless
head,

To youthful conquest: or, when, panic-struck,
DARIUS from his plunging chariot sprang,
Away the bow and mantle cast, and fled.
His robe, all splendid from the silk-worm's loom,
Floated effeminate, and from his neck

Hung chains of gold, and gems from eastern mines.
Bedight with many-colour'd plumage, flamed
His proud tiara, plumage which had spread
Its glittering dyes of scarlet, green, and gold,
To evening suns by Indus' stream: around
Twined careless, glow'd the white and purple band,
The imperial, sacred badge of Persia's kings.
Thus his triumphal car in Babylon

Display'd him, drawn by snow-white elephants,
Whose feet crush'd odours from the flowery wreaths
Boy-Cupids scatter'd, while soft music breathed
And incense fumed around. But dire his hue,
Bloated and bacchanal as on the night

When old Persepolis was wrapp'd in flame!
Fear over all had flung a livid tinge.
A deeper awe subdued him than amazed
PARMENIO and the rest, when they beheld
The white-stoled Levites from Jerusalem,
Thrown open as on some high festival,
With hymns and solemn pomp, come down the hill
To meet the incensed king, and wondering saw,
As on the pontiff's awful form he gazed,
Glistering in purple with his mystic gems,
JOVE's vaunted son, at JADDUA's foot, adore.

XIV.

Turn, now, where stood the spotless Virgin: sweet

Her azure eye, and fair her golden ringlets;
But changeful as the hues of infancy

Her face. As on her son, her Gon, she gazed,
Fix'd was her look,-earnest, and breathless ;-

now,

Suffused her glowing cheek; now, changed to

pale ;

First, round her lip a smile celestial play'd,
Then, fast, fast rain'd the tears.-Who can in-
terpret ?-

Perhaps some thought maternal cross'd her heart,
That mused on days long past, when on her breast
He helpless lay, and of his infant smile;
Or, on those nights of terror, when, from worse
Than wolves, she hasted with her babe to Egypt.

XV.

Girt by a crowd of monarchs, of whose fame
Scarce a memorial lives, who fought and reign'd
While the historic lamp shed glimmering light,
Above the rest one regal port aspired,
Crown'd like Assyria's princes; not a crest
O'ertopp'd him, save the giant seraphim.
His countenance, more piercing than the beam
Of the sun-gazing eagle, earthward bent
Its haught, fierce majesty, temper'd with awe.
Seven years with brutish herds had quell'd his
pride,

And taught him there's a mightier king in heaven.
His powerful arm founded old Babylon,
Whose bulwarks like the eternal mountains heaved
Their adamantine heads; whose brazen gates
Beleaguering nations foil'd, and bolts of war,
Unshaken, unanswer'd as the pelting hail.
House of the kingdom! glorious Babylon!
Earth's marvel, and of unborn time the theme!
Say where thou stood'st:-or, can the fisherman
Plying his task on the Euphrates, now,

A silent, silver, unpolluted tide,
Point to thy grave, and answer? From a sash
O'er his broad shoulder hung the ponderous sword,
Fatal as sulphurous fires to Nineveh,
That levell'd with her waves the walls of Tyrus,
Queen of the sea; to its foundations shook
Jerusalem, and reap'd the fields of Egypt.

XVI.

Endless the task to name the multitudes From every land, from isles remote, in seas Which no adventurous mariner has sail'd:

H

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