tempt, for the most part, is less successful, than that of imparting by words, distinct ideas of particular scenes in nature. The great features of wood, water, rock, mountain and plain, may be brought before the imagination; but it groups and figures them according to models already impressed on the memory, and the picture it forms with these materials has a very faint resemblance of the reality. Dyer has judiciously attempted no more than to sketch such a prospect as may be conceived to be in view from almost any elevated summit in a picturesque country; and he has chiefly dwelt on circumstances of generality; such as those on ascending a steep and lofty hill, in the following lines: Still the prospect wider spreads, Still it widens, widens still, And sinks the newly risen hill. Now I gain the mountain's brow, What a prospect lies below! &c. It is not necessary to have climbed Gron gar hill, to feel the descriptive beauty of such a passage, or of most of the subsequent imagery, which consists of objects common to all similar situations. In like manner, his moral reflections on the ruined castle which forms a distinguished object in the scene, are universally applicable; as well as those on the course of the rivers, and of the optical delusions produced by distance. The facility with which the reader enters into the ideas, sensible and intellectual, of this piece, has, doubtless, been a principal cause of its popularity; to which, its familiar style and measure, and its moderate length, have further contributed. The author has taken a loftier flight in his blank verse poem of "The Ruins of Rome," which is likewise a combination of the moral and the descriptive. Few themes, indeed, can be imagined more fertile of striking imagery and impressive sentiment, than that of the decline of such a mighty seat of empire, still displaying in its relics the lineaments of its former grandeur. Dyer formed his draught on the spot, and expressed with the pen what he had first copied with the pencil: hence his performance abounds with touches of reality, which give it a spirit not to be found in pictures drawn from fancy or recollection. For, objects of so singular a kind as the ruins of ancient art and magnificence must be seen to be adequately represented; and no one, from his general stock of ideas, can figure to himself what bears the peculiar stamp of individuality. One might be certain that such a description as the following was taken upon the spot: .........I raise The toilsome step up the proud Palatin, Thro' spiry cypress groves, and tow'ring pines On numerous arches rear'd; and, frequent stopp'd, The historical allusions, and moral and political reflections, are accommodated to P the scenery, but are sufficiently obvious. One of the most striking passages of this kind is that in which the poet indulges a strain of pensive meditation on The solitary, silent, solemn scene, Where Cæsars, heroes, peasants, hermits lie. It appears to me that this performance has not enjoyed its due share of reputation. The subject is peculiarly happy, and its execution must surely be allowed to display no common measure of poetical genius. Adieu! Yours, &c. AKENSIDE. LETTER XII. 159 STILL keeping in the walk of blank verse, I now, my dear Mary, offer to your perusal a poem, in which the art is employed in unfolding its own nature and origin. The Pleasures of the Imagination," by Dr. AKENSIDE, is a piece of the philosophical or metaphysical kind, the purpose of which is to investigate the source of those delights which the mind derives from the contemplation of the objects presented to the senses by nature, and also from those imitations of them which are produced by the arts of poetry and painting. You have already had examples of the manner in which moral and theological argumentation ally themselves with poetry; and perhaps the effect has been to convince you that reasoning and system-building are not the proper occupations of verse. If this be |