not tread in the same path, is guided to the temple of fame by the same light. them. The Atlantic side of the Alleghanies is sufficiently controlled by that kind of prejudice in relation to ultra montane literature, that led one, Considered as an entire poem, the " Conqueror" some two thousand years ago, to say, "Can any is of unequal merit. Its defects, nevertheless, are good thing come out of Nazareth?" These preju-few-its excellences many. Agreeable harmony dices, which we are glad to find are gradually sub- of versification, and a lyrical grace and elegance, siding, should not be neglected or despised by is united, in this poem, with great boldness, during western writers. The names of the Messrs. imagery, and kindling enthusiasm. The changes Harper and Brothers," or Carey, Lea and of verse are adapted to the variety of the subject; Blanchard," on the title page of many a book, has now stirring the blood with its martial vigor, and often proved a better endorsement to the public "the hurrying march of its words;" now delighteye than the author's. How natural it is to con- ing the taste with its polished and graceful versifidemn a book unread, when it bears the imprint of cation; or now elevating the mind with its phia country town! A circumstance apparently so losophy. trivial, has stifled, it is well known to the literary After narrating in lofty verse the political world, many books of merit in their birth. There events that preceded the appearance of Bonaparte is the same kind of faith extended to an unknown on the European stage, he describes the "Child of book, as to an unknown bank note; if it bears Destiny," arising from the universal chaos, the city names, and is of a city bank, it is received magician, who is to control the elements. A short with confidence; if it is a country bill, it is taken extract will convey some idea of the mode in which with hesitation and suspicion. Extensive pub-the poet has treated his subject, and also show the lishers have also an opportunity, by their wide- peculiarity of the rythm he has adopted. spread agencies, of circulating a new work over a vast extent of country; whereas, a book published without these advantages, has to make its way slowly and with difficulty into notice. It must therefore be an evidence of its intrinsic merit, for a book to win, without these adventitious aids, in the short period of two years, extensive and permanent popularity for its author. The laurels which Mr. Gallagher has won, are, therefore, solely due to his genius. III. "Soon the strange vision changed, A bright creation of th' events and times, Upon a model different from the old, A dangerous word when wrongly understood- The nucleus, or leading poem of " ERATO No. II," is entitled, "The Conqueror." It is twenty pages, or six hundred and sixty lines in length. The subject is Napoleon. The poet is represented as having fallen into a deep sleep over a volume, that records the history of his hero's deeds, during which, the remarkable events of the "Conqueror's" career pass before his mind in a succession of visions. Each vision is narrated, after the exordium, in a separate part or canto, which are The scene of the vision changes in the fourth twelve in number. This poem is in part modelled canto to the land of the Ptolemies. After narratupon a fragment of Schiller; but the study of a ing the effects following the ravages of an invading model does not necessarily imply imitation. In army-the cities sacked, churches profaned, and the structure of its verse, there is apparent a slight scorched plains, fertilized with human blood, and resemblance to the "Thalaba" of Southey; the dotted with human bones— likeness is not marked by any prominent outlines, but is rather a coincidence of thought and unity of "Heap'd up like pyramids !" tastes. This is the more apparent when we learn he paints in the following vigorous lines, the that the author had planned "The Conqueror" mysterious influence which the mind of Napoleon several years before he had seen the "Thalaba" exercised over his soldiers of the poet-laureate. The similitude lies in the choice of rythm, not in imitation; and, although the poet in his preface modestly deprecates, in any shape whatsoever, any allusion to that "unsurpassed achievement of the human mind, and imperishable monument of human genius," yet he has unconsciously lighted his torch at the same altar; and although he may "And he, who late Had won the admiration of the world, Again a change comes o'er the spirit of the poet's dream, and Napoleon is exhibited in a new light; his eyes directed towards a statue of liberty, while his hands are extended to grasp the Bourbon crown, "Which he could almost seize, but seem'd to fear Detection of his base hypocrisy." The solid phalanx : and with gathered force, Our limits will not admit of a much longer notice of this poem. It is, throughout, stamped with genius. Its versification, although of an ex There is great power in the following lines, especially the last, with which the poet, after de-ceedingly difficult kind, is characterised by reguscribing the tortures inflicted upon the conqueror's breast, by " the never slumbering fiend" ambition, concludes the fifth canto: "Whose nights are passed in some unknown recess, With the world's chart before his greedy eyes, Marking off lands to conquer !" At length, emboldened by a brilliant series of successes, unprecedented in the history of mankind, the conqueror in a hundred fields, now "feared detection less," "And seized the glittering crown larity and harmony. In some of the more stirring scenes, there is a glowing rapidity and passionate energy of expression; the words seeming to flow from an irresistible impulse, as if the poet had deserted the trained, yet spirited jennet of his muse, to bestride, as more befitting his theme, a stately war-horse. In "The Conqueror," there is observable a prodigality, or rather opulence of imagery, drawn from the sterner scenes of nature. Aside from the character of his subject, which calls for stern thought and cold conception, the poet has, in this poem, betrayed the peculiar cast of his mind, which is perhaps impressed rather by the grand and terrific, than the picturesque and beautiful; although the uncommon sweetness of his lyrics, and the delicate beauty of the thoughts At length, urged onward by ambition, to wield the imperial sceptres and wear the crown of they embody, and the tranquil ease and grace purple, "He cast Dissimulation off, and seized once more VI. "Again the vision changed. The Emperors of Europe, and the kings, Their legions poured into the field of war; which pervades all his minor poems, and the sparkling gaiety of his fancy, show that he loves to contemplate the gentler features of nature, as well as the more austere, and delights to connect the tranquil scenes of life with those of a sterner character. Mr. Gallagher's poetry is an accurate transcript of his mind. He is a poet that reminds us of" the blue sky, and green earth; of the babbling brooks; of the singing waterfalls; of the quiet hamlet, embowered in trees and covered with vines; of the peaceful landscape; of the velvet valley, and of the rock-ribbed mountain ;" who enchants as with nature's magnificent repose, and stirs the blood with her awful awakenings to earthquake and tempest. His muse does not haunt the crowded city, the gorgeous palace, or the artificial bower. Unlike many of the ephemera of the muse who flourish in modern times, he can find something else beautiful besides "the face of woman; something else worth apostrophizing besides a pencilled eyebrow; something symmetrical besides a female form; something worth praising besides a well turned ancle; something that floats upon the heart besides dishevelled tresses; and something whose touch thrills us be The seventh canto is distinguished by unusual power, abounds in vivid descriptions, sublime and often wild imagery. It contains a picture of a battle field drawn with appalling force and truth. In the following strong passage from the eighth canto, we have the reality vividly presented before us; and do not so much read of the fierce encoun-sides the soft white hand.” ter of opposing hosts, as we hear the shouts of the combatants, and the earth tremble beneath the shock of encountering phalanxes : "On rush the legions of the conqueror-- That rolls with force tremendous 'gainst the rock The second poem in this volume, is entitled, "OUR WESTERN LAND," and breathes, throughout, the thoughts "that come of inspiration," and the patriotism of one who loves his native land; it is everywhere marked with the devotion of the poet, and the pride of the patriot. It is divided into seven short cantos, and its subject is suffi ciently indicated by its title. It takes a retrospective glance of the early history of the West is; enriched by enchanting descriptions of the scenery to an "Early Spring Flower," and to a “Late on the Ohio river, which, in the poem is termed Fall Flower;" a spirited and energetic poem, traditionally and poetically OHIO-PE-HE-LE; is varied by episode; abounds in traditionary allusions; and, for beauty and variety of imagery, lyric grace of thought and expression, united with conciseness, touching pathos, and manly vigor of style, it is one of those productions which will withstand successfully the test of candid criticism, and perpetuate the fame of the poet. We find our pencil has been drawn around several passages of great beauty. One of these can only be selected. It is in allusion to the meeting of the waters of the Alleghany and Monongahela rivers, and is in a vein that reminds us of Chaucer: "Behold the clear stream's coquetry! The more 'tis woo'd and press'd, the more The remainder of the volume consists of " Miscellaneous Poems" and "Lyrics." The first of the miscellaneous pieces, is "The Old Soldier," a martial and spirited poem, of about 130 lines. The second is called "A Simile." A cloud, breaking into many fragments, which sail away in different directions, but gradually fading into the sky as they move, until all disappear, as if received into the heavens, forms the subject, which the poet has used with great taste, poetical truth, and religious feeling. He paints a family circle, entitled "Childe Harold," founded on Byron's wish in his conversations with Capt. Parry, "I long to be again among the mountains;" a short poem called "August," and some stanzas suggested by the cholera of 1832, complete the division of the "Miscellaneous Poems." Of these, "August" is thought by some of Mr. Gallagher's reviewers to be superior to anything else from his pen. We must refer the reader to this beautiful ode; the brief extract for which only we have room, would mutilate, without conveying a just idea of its merits. There is a similarity of imagery between some portions of this poem and Mr. Bryant's" Noon Scene," but only such as would naturally occur to minds of similar tastes and bias, contemplating the same features of a subject. We will extract a stanza of Mr. Bryant's poem, and the second stanza of "August," in which this resemblance may be slightly traced. It should be remarked here, that Mr. Gallagher had both written and published his poem before he met with the "Noon Scene." BRYANT. The quiet August noon is come: A slumb'rous silence fills the sky; The winds are still--the trees are dumb... GALLAGHER. Thee, hath the August sun, Looked on with hot and fierce and brassy face; And still and lazily run, Scarce whispering in their pace, The half-dried rivulets, that lately sent A shout of gladness up, as on they went. There is an epigrammatic turn in the following stanza from "The Mountain Path," throughout which poem there is a peculiar joyousness of manner, and an uplifting of the heart that is refreshing. "Gloriously comes he there! Morn on the hills! One hour of life like this, "knowing no bosom's storm," but who are at In lyric composition Mr. Gallagher is evidently at length "Wind-driven forth, Guided by no fixed star: Some roam the earth---some sail the billowy main-.. But as the ample space Receiv'd, and all absorb'd that scattered cloud, Ends with the pall and shroud, "Elegiac Verses," occasioned by the death of the late Thomas S. Grimke, which are of a lofty, grave, and highly poetical cast; "The Music of the Heart;" "The Mountain Path;" addresses home; although it has already been shown his poeti- Summer, personified, is here addressed. The heart which had so long convulsed the world, The lyrics in this volume are five in number. "They told me not to love him!" is characterized with that liquid ease and graceful simplicity in which consist the prominent features of his lyrical compositions. It has been set to music, and is extensively popular, and will no doubt be recognized as an old and familiar acquaintance by many fair readers. The " Day Dream," and "The Rose is on thy Cheek," are both set to music; and are sparkling and epigrammatic. The "Zephyr and the Rose Bud," a fanciful allegory; and "The Tears of Youth," conclude the volume. Several tales of great merit, have occasionally appeared in the periodicals which he has edited judging from these productions, Mr. Gallagher has only to apply his talents to prose composition to rank high as a novel writer; but he is, doubtless, content with the poet's wreath, which is not only more dazzling than the novelist's, but likewise more difficult of attainment; "for many strive, but few there be that gain it." pouring over legers, or disbursing bank notes across a counter. The well known fact that all American poets depend on other than literary pursuits, for the means and comforts of life, is a strong attestation of the truth of the remarks with which the writer commenced this sketch. Mr. Gallagher is a married man: he possesses a manly figure, tall and well proportioned, with a lofty and somewhat haughty carriage. His complexion is very fair and ruddy; and his face exhibits a remarkably youthful appearance as if but nineteen, and not twenty-eight years had passed over his head. In conversation, he is animated and energetic, evincing the man of quick sensibility, the bold thinker, the acute critic, and severe satirist. His eyes are lively, and, when animated, of a piercing blue. His forehead is fair and open, uniting intellectual strength, with softness of outline, and is the index of the graceful character of his mind. Beautifully along the trembling wave did the light of day wander to its golden couch. It was the sunset hour. The music of the breeze, and the voice of the birds, as they "Turned to the sun their waved coats, dropt with gold," Mr. Gallagher, during the fall of 1836, retired from the editorship of the Literary Journal, which even in the "literary emporium of the west," sunk for the want of support, and accepted the coeditorship of a political paper in Louisville, where he now resides. But, like all men of a poetic temperament, Mr. Gallagher has but little taste for the "wordy war of politics," and will no doubt sigh floated along the sparkling waters, and mingled, as for the retirement more congenial to his disposi-life from cot and villa, on the banks of the Seine. The they floated, with the gay song and the merry shout of tion. In this country poets cannot live by their rich landscape-the broad champaign-the verdant muse, who often frowns upon her children, as she forests-the distant hills- the glassy river, were bathed finds them wallowing amid a sea of newspapers; in the mellowed crimson and purple tints of sunset, as they glittered along the heights of heaven. The air was calm and tranquil, and scarcely moved the leaf of the dim and distant mountain, or the spray of the river. The Seine was motionless as the willows that hung upon its golden bosom. On its either shore arose groves and alleys of tall poplars, winding above which could be seen the curling smoke of distant cottages, and on its smooth, unrippled surface was the large and VOL. IV.-58 heavy river craft, creeping along with snail-like pace, | the Titans who besieged Olympus than any he had ever or the white sailed pleasure-boat ploughing the waters amidst the gushes of music and song from its gay passengers. In the distance arose the domes, towers, temples and palaces of voluptuous Paris, on whose turrets and spires gleamed the rays of the sun, as it slowly sank beneath the western wave. Thus appeared the scene, as a solitary horseman slowly wended through it. He was in the opening, rather than the prime of manhood. His form was slender, and somewhat above the common height, yet very symmetrical, and the whole appearance of his person strikingly noble, so much so, that at first sight, you could not be drawn from the general appearance to scrutinize each particular feature that had drawn forth your admiration when blended. His countenance was open and frank, as well as eminently handsome. His forehead was broad and high, over which floated in a careless and unstudied manner clusters of deep black hair, contrasting strongly with the paleness of the temples. His cheek was slightly flushed, and the blood could almost be seen gliding beneath it. His eye seemed thoughtfully wandering to other scenes than the one through which he now wended, which by some would have been interpreted to want of taste, in not appreciating one among the brightest landscapes in the land of vineyards; others, of deeper penetration, would have placed it, and perchance more truly, to a wish to forget the present in the events of the past, and the melancholy expression of his countenance betrayed those events as dark and embittering. seen. His hair, of a grayish color, floated almost to his feet, and the long nails and tattered condition of his dress bespoke him the hermit of the cave. His eye was stretched over the wide plain beneath, and it was some moments before it rested on the horseman : as it did, it was lighted up suddenly, like a torch flashing amid the tomb. His lips parted, and these were the strange words he uttered: "On, on, to Paris! for there thou art now expected"— and he turned, as he did so, lifting his thin bony finger to something gleaming in the distance like sapphire columns from the sparkling Seine. "Lo! through the dim mists its thousand palaces! On, on!" And the hermit disappeared in the mouth of the cave, and the wanderer pondered over the strange words, "Thou art now expected:" they were mysterious; but he paused not until he reached the capital of France. Before him was the tower of Saint Sulpice; in the distance, and almost obscured by the mists that hovered around them, arose the blackened walls of Notre Dame; at his side were dismal and dirty huts, and the street through which he rode, was so crowded, that it was with difficulty to himself and danger to the passengers, that he forced his way along. Just as he passed the arch of l'Etoile, the cry of a beggar startled his spirited horse, which, taking affright, suddenly sprang to one side. So quick and so unlooked for was the motion, that the rider, almost thrown from his seat, could not give the alarm before the horse trod on a little child that was heedlessly playing in the street. As it leaped away, The observer, unacquainted though he might be with the girl, for such it was, fell to the earth greatly manthe withering commerce of the world, and viewing, gled, the blood flowing from its nose and lips. The though he might, its stern realities of deceit and dis- horseman, discovering the accident, sprang from his cord through the eyes of youth, could easily have saddle, but reached the child as it was caught in an old traced in the sadness of the traveller a sorrow which woman's arms, an already stiffening corpse. Terrified can never be concealed in the dim and silent chambers by the sudden death of the child, with its bloody form of the human heart. The past is a harp, and memory in her withered arms, the old nurse gazed one moa sybil, whose finger will stray upon its silent chords, ment on its pale, hueless countenance, the features calm whether its tones are sickening to the soul, or refresh- and smiling even in death, and shrieked "Murder!"" ing as the dew of evening to the withered flower. The which swept, amid the din and noise of the street, like most trivial event will remove the lava and the dust, a thunderbolt. One moment, an appalling silence, like and array before the sufferer the grimlike thoughts of that of the grave, hovered around, and in the next, all former years, which had been thought deeply buried-was commotion and disorder. Windows flew up, doors or, perchance, in the decay of the cheek, in the reckless sprang open, and the terror-stricken citizens leaped laughter of the lip, or in the ruin of the eye, may be forth, reiterating with maniac gestures the demon cry. traced the gloomy thoughts that rise, like spectre-It was all the work of a moment, and swam before the shapes, from the voiceless urn of buried hope. Sweetest of England's mighty writers! loveliest of the daughters of song! beautifully hast thou said, and true as beautiful, "The heart may be a dark and closed-up tomb; But memory stands a ghost amid the gloom!"* eyes of our traveller like some distempered vision. Ere he could put spurs to his horse, his retreat was impossible, for he was surrounded on every side. As far as his eye could reach, the street was completely crowded with beings more like ghosts or spectres than human. That some dreadful and premeditated assas sination had been committed, every one believed. The simple event, as usual in moments of deep excitement, was greatly increased and exaggerated, gathering at every move a fresh inhumanity. "She was so young and beautiful," whimpered a fellow who never had seen her. "And so innocent," said another. As the traveller rode along, from a neighboring chapel the vesper song of evening, borne over the calm waters and mellowed by the distance, reached his ears. The words, twined into a somewhat solemn rhyme, and sang by voices of peculiar sweetness, accompanied with the chime of convent bells, well befitted the hour, and threw our horseman into a train of reflections at "She would not have remained so long," muttered once sweet and sad. As the hymn ceased, and he re- between his teeth a cowardly, sleek-haired gallant, as commenced his journey, he spied, on a high rock at he gazed at the noble horseman, and thought of his own the mouth of a cave by the roadside, a tall and ghost-pretty lass; "virtue and purity are as naught beneath like form. It was above the human height, and more the libertine's glance." resembled the heathen's conception of that of one of * Letitia E. Landon. Just at this moment he made a second attempt st flight. |