character of our circumstances, even with all our enjoyments, are such as often to present pictures repulsive and abhorrent to perceptions more delicate than deep. But the cultivation of taste when confined as it ought to be to its proper place, and limited to its proper degree, is eminently conducive to our happiness, and eventually to our good. Taste should even rule itself, and set bounds to its own existence, for its laws are as much violated when we are too sublime for useful service, and too delicate for duty, as when we descend to the use of vulgar epithets, and ape the absurdities of our inferiors.

As a proof of the immediate application of taste, we seldom wholly approve of the language and customs of past ages. That the same astonishing productions of art which adorned the most enlightened eras of Grecian history, should remain to be models of excellence at the present day, is because of their relation to the senses, whose power in assisting the judgment is limited to a degree of cultivation; but language and social customs having more immediate relation to the intellectual and moral constitution of man are continually fluctuating, or progressing, without any perceptible limitation to their capability of improvement. We I cannot look back to the literature of the past century, and pay our just tribute to its superiority in force of expression, without at the same time being struck with words and phrases, which to say the least of them, arrest our attention, and often impede, by the difference of their associations, our perception of their sense and application. Indeed so wide is this difference, that many minds endowed with fine taste and sensibility, are now incapable of appreciating the beauties of Shakespeare; though we own there is some cause to suspect of such minds, that they are deficient both in imagination and power, or they would unquestionably be lifted above what appear to us now the absurdities of this extraordinary writer, by the unrivalled splendour of his mighty genius. Insensible to the brilliance of a great luminary, which reveals a world of glory, these fastidious critics take the light of their tiny perceptions into partial spots of shade, and extracting from thence the rank nettle or the wandering weed, cry out that by their

own delicacy they have made this laudable discovery. Better would it beseem an elevated soul to pass on, and leave such blemishes unnoticed; or to prove its just and noble admiration of true genius, rather than its capability of discovering petty faults.

Where the poet is gifted with judgment, and not with taste, he is compelled to ponder at every verse; and while he weighs the merit of his subject, compares his ideas, and new models his expressions, the warmth of his poetic fervour is expended, and that which ought to appear to us as if it flowed from a natural and irrepressible impulse, becomes painful and laborious, both to himself, and to his readers. But he who is gifted with a high degree of taste, calls in the aid of this important faculty, the lively exercise of whose immediate power directs him to the choice of expressions in which to clothe his ideas, striking out what is defective, and selecting what is appropriate, with the rapidity of an instantaneous impulse. One kind of metre admits of a pompous array of words, another of expressions volatile and gay— one of abrupt and broken, another of smooth and flowing sentences. One subject requires a correspondence of solemn or melancholy sound, another of the rapid movements which belong to lively joy. One scene calls forth the glowing ornament of eastern magnificence, another, the cold majesty of the frozen north. For the description of one passion the poet must adorn his muse with the attributes of love and beauty, for another he must place in her hand the lighted brand of fury and destruction. All this is the work of taste, and when no law, either intellectual or moral has been violated; when the customs and regulations of society have been consulted, and no feeling or prejudice offended; when propriety, and order, and harmony, have ruled the poet's theme, and verse; and when supreme regard has been paid to beauty, both in its physical and intellectual character, we may confidently pronounce the writer to have possesed a more than common share of taste.

On this snbject we may go yet farther. We may say of the faculty of taste, that it makes the nearest approach to what we are in the habit of calling inspiration; because it is the direct rule of propriety in action:

and were the perceptions of man so quick and clear as to carry the same principle along with him through all the transactions of his life, he would always act rightly. But, beyond the surface of things, man is unable to judge at sight. Reflection requires time and effort, often more of both than he is willing to bestow, and even when he is willing, the right period of action is lost before he has decided upon the right means.

By contemplating the character and operation of taste, we arrive at a dim and distant perception of one of the attributes of the Divine nature; and even this imperfect view reveals a world of wonder in which imagination is bewildered, and understanding lost. We know the rapidity of thought with which we decide in a moment, even during an instantaneous movement, which is the most graceful, the most effective, or the best mode of acting; and it may not perhaps be derogating from the supreme majesty to suppose that the same effort of omnipotent mind, created out of Chaos a universe of worlds, not only designing their form and regulating their movements, in the centre of infinity; but also designing and regulating their internal constitution, down to the slightest impulse of an infant's will, the meanest weed that lurks within the forest glade, or the minutest insect that skims along the surface of the summer lake. The power of judging when limited to a narrow sphere of operation constitutes the superiority of man above the brutes; the power of judging universally, instantaneously and infallibly, belongs to God alone.

We have said, and we repeat it with reverence, that the faculty of taste in the single consideration of its mode of operating, bears

SO

taste is sacrificed: consequently, as our mental and material world is constituted, the dominon of taste must extend over a very limited and narrow sphere.

The difference of taste to be found amongst mankind, and the want of a universal standard of reference, have excited almost as many arguments in the sphere of poetry and the arts, as the difference of creeds in the religious world. This subject seems to be most satisfactorily decided, by attaching to the majority the same importance in taste as in politics. The exercise of taste being to find the medium between all objectionable extremes-the centre of eccentricity-it follows of necessity, that whatever is admired by the greatest number, must possess the greatest share of intrinsic excellence. But here, as in other cases, it is highly important to make a distinction between mere numbers, and numbers qualified to judge; for how should that judgment be a test of merit, to which merit is neither apparent nor intelligible? The gallery audience in a theatre may be well qualified to pronounce upon the height, the breadth, the complexion, or the agility of a favourite actor; but who would appeal to them to know whether he had exhibited to the life the workings of deep-seated feeling, or entered into the mental mysteries of an intellectual character? When, therefore, we speak of the majority of opinions being the strongest proof of the presence of good taste, we would confine those opinions, not merely to a few learned men, the established critics and censors of the day, but to the whole of the enlightened public, who constitute a community too numerous for long continued prejudice, and too intelligent for egregious

error.

Why then, it may be asked, does a false taste sometimes prevail, even amongst this community, as in the case of Byron,* whose poetry so powerfully affected men's minds, as to leave behind it a disrelish for all other? A false taste may exist amongst the few, from partial impressions, and local preju

• The inequalities of Byron's style, naturally lead the writer to speak of his poetry in a manner that may at times appear paradoxical: this remark of course can

to which his eccentric genius sometimes descended.

dices; but a false taste can only exist amongst the many, from the universality of the same impressions false to the principles of nature, and the same prejudices opposed to the principles of good sense; a phenomenon which it is not often our misfortune to behold; and I should account for the extraordinary bias given to the public taste by the works of Byron, as arising from the power of his genius rather than the peculiarity of his style; and the generality of readers not giving themselves trouble to make the distinction, they are still thirsting for the same style, in the vain hope of finding it connected with the same genius. Happy would it be for mankind, for public taste, and public morals, if the same mind, purified from all alloy, could return again to earth, to prove to the world that the same power may be directed to higher purposes without losing its influence, and the same beauty, and the same harmony, be touched by a hand more true to the principles of eternal happiness.

In looking for instances of the display of taste in poetry, it is necessary to confine our observation to the present times; for as we have before remarked, that which was in strict accordance with good taste a century ago, is not so now; because the different customs and manners of mankind have introduced different associations; and expressions which formely conveyed none but elevated and refined ideas, are now connected with those of a totally different nature. We are inclined to think that the works of Milton would have afforded the finest example of taste, as well as power, in the age in which he lived, because in cases where the senses have dominion-the accordance of sense with sound, for instancehe is inimitable. But the language of Milton is sometimes too quaint for modern ears, and in his pages we occasionally meet with single words that startle us with associations foreign to what is now considered as poetical.

We cannot quote a more perfect example of taste in modern language, than the writings of our poet Campbell, in which, especially his Pleasures of Hope, it would be difficult to find an ill-chosen word, or an idea not in strict accordance with the principles

of harmony and grace. The presence of taste being, however imperceptible, except by the absence of faults, it is difficult to bring forward instances in particular passages of the influence of this powerful but still indefinable charm. The following lines, familiar to every reader, or rather every admirer of poetry, are remarkable for their adaptation of language, and harmony of sound.

"Primeval Hope, the Aönian muses say,

When man and nature mourn'd their first decay;
When every form of death, and every wo,
Shot from malignant stars to earth below;
When Murder bared her arm, and rampant War
Yoked the red dragons of her iron car;
When Peace and Mercy, banish'd from the plain,
Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven again;
All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind,
But Hope, the charmer, linger'd still behind."

And in the description of the fate of the "hardy Byron," how perfectly does the sound of each line correspond with its sense, flowing on like a continued stream of melody, without interruption from any word or idea not purely poetical.

"And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore
The hardy Byron to his native shore-
In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep
Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep,
'Twas his to mourn misfortune's rudest shock,
Scourg'd by the winds, and cradled on the rock,
To wake each joyless morn, and search again
The famish'd haunts of solitary men;
Whose race, unyielding as their native storm,
Know not a trace of nature but the form;
Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued,
Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued,
Pierced the deep woods, and hailing from afar,
The moon's pale planet, and the northern star :
Paused at each dreary cry, unheard before,
Hyænas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore;
Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff' sublime,
He found a warmer world, a milder clime,
A home to rest, a shelter to defend,
Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend!"

The idea conveyed in the following lines, is well worthy of a poetic mind. Others seem to have felt the same, but none have done more ample justice to the feeling, than the elegant bard from whom we quote.

"Who that would ask a heart to dullness wed,
The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead?
No; the wild bliss of nature needs alloy,
And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy!
And say, without our hopes, without our fears,
Without the home that plighted love endears,
Without the smile from partial beauty won,
Oh! what were man ?-a world without a sun."

Ana when the poet exclaims,

"Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mird,

But leave-Oh! leave the light of Hope behind! What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between,"—

we feel that to such a mind, hope would come as a blessed messenger, whose tidings would be of things sublime, and pure, and elevated above the low wants and wishes of a material existence.

We know of but one word in the whole of this beautiful poem which is at variance with good taste, and we quote the line, not from the pleasure of pointing out a single fault in the midst of a thousand merits, but for the purpose of showing how forcibly an error in taste strikes upon the attention and the feelings of the reader.

"The living lumber of his kindred earth."

We are ready to imagine from this line, that the author has scarcely been aware of the high degree of beauty and refinement which pervades his work. "Lumber," in the poetical writings of Pope, might have occurred without any breach of taste, because his concise and forcible style is more characterised by power, than elegance; and lumber might, therefore, have been in keeping with the general tone of his expressions. But here, where all is music to the ear, and harmony to the mind, this uncouth word is decidedly out of place; and while longing to exchange it for another, we can only wonder that there should be but one small blemish in so many fair and beautiful pages of genuine poetry, adorned throughout with the most tender, refined, and elevated thoughts.

Gertrude of Wyoming is another poem strikingly illustrative of the influence of

taste.

In the death-song of the Indian chief, we observe how skilfully the poet has blendea the indignant spirit of an injured man, with the strong affections, wild metaphors, and wilder visions, of that interesting and dignified people.

"And I could weep ;-th' Oneyda chief His descant wildly thus began;

But that I may not stain with grief

The death-song of my father's son !

Or bow this head in wo;

For by my wrongs, and by my wrath!
To-morrow Areouski's breath,

(That fires yon heaven with storms and death,)
Shall light us to the foe:

Campbell's "lines on leaving a scene in Bavaria," full of the deep pathos of poetic feeling, afford one of the most splendid instances of the power of that faculty, which chords of true harmony, and waken the can strike with the rapidity of thought the genuine music of the soul-the echo of its deep, but secret passions. We cannot read these lines without feeling that there is a language for the wounded spirit-a voice amidst the solitudes of that

"Unknown, unploughed, untrodden shore,"

whose melancholy cadence is in unison with the feelings which we may not, dare not, utter; and we inwardly bless the mournful minstrel for the wild sweet melody of his most harmonious lyre. Were we to attempt to quote passages from these lines, the temptation would extend to the whole of this inimitable poem, we can only recommend it to the reader as one of the finest specimens of poetic taste, as well as poetic feeling, which our language affords.

After all that has been said on the subject, we feel that taste is something to be felt, rather than defined, yet of such unparalleled importance to the poet, that wanting this requisite, he may sing for ever, and yet sing in vain. As well might the musician expect to charm his audience, by playing what he assures them is the finest music, on a broken or defective instrument, as the poet hope to please without making himself thoroughly acquainted with the principles of taste-perhaps we should rather say, with what is, or is not in accordance with its rules, for as a principle, taste has not yet arrived at a definite state of existence; and if the young poet should read "The pleasures of Hope" with reference to this subject, and not feel in his very soul the

presence and the power of taste, he might bid adieu to the worship of the muses, and devote his genius to objects less elevated and sublime.

CONCLUSION.

We have now examined the four requisites for writing poetry, to none of which it would be wise to assign a station of preeminence, because they are equally necessary to the success of the poet's art-impression to furnish lasting ideas, imagination to create images from such ideas, power to strike them out with emphasis and truth, and taste to recommend such as are worthy of approbation, and to dismiss such as are not. We have also been daring enough to maintain that poetry, as a principle, pervades all nature, and if the fact be acknowledged that poetry is neither written with that ardour, nor read with that delight, which characterised an earlier era in our history, it becomes an important and interesting inquiry, What is the cause?

That imagination should be exhausted, is a moral impossibility; because the creation of a thousand images in no way disqualifies for the creation of a thousand more; any one quality extracted from a former image, and added to the whole or a part of another, being sufficient for the creation of one, that shall appear to the world entirely original or new. That power should be expended, is no less an absurdity in thought; because that being the vital principle by which thoughts are generated, man can only cease to think when he ceases to feel, and only cease to feel when he ceases to exist. And that taste should have lost its influence over the human mind, is equally | at variance with common sense; because with increased facility in collecting and comparing evidence for the establishment of true excellence, taste must unavoidably become more definite in its nature, and more determinate in its operations. Beyond this, we may ask, is there any thing in the customs, occupations, or mode of education peculiar to the present day, which hinders the

exercise of imagination? We should rather say, that its sphere of action is widened to an incalculable extent. Is there any thing that weakens the mind, or destroys its native power? No. The habits of the present race of men are distinguished by indefatigable industry, and general application, and regulated by those laws of strict and unremitting discipline, which are universally acknowledged to strengthen the understanding, and invigorate the mental faculties. Is there any thing to warp the public taste, and establish a false standard of merit? Never since the world began, were mankind more penetrating, and at the same time more extensive in their observations, more universally free from the shackles of tyranny and superstition, as well as from all uniformly prevailing prejudice, than now. It is clear then, that the deficiency in our poetical enjoyments arises from a want of the due proportion of clear and deep impressions. We have not stored up the necessary materials for imagination, power, and taste to work with, and therefore the machinery of the mind, so far as relates to poetry, remains inactive. We possess not the key to its secret harmonies, and therefore the language of poetry is unintelligible

to our ears.

The silence of our ablest poets, and the want of any leading or distinguished poem to fill up the present vacuum in our literature, sufficiently prove the fact to which we allude. The last popular work of this kind that issued from our press, was "The Course of Time;" but its popularity rather resembled an instantaneous flash, than a steady and lasting light. It forced its way in the flush of the moment to every respectable library in the kingdom-was read with wonder-closed with satisfaction-and, what is very remarkable, affords no quotations. Since this time we have had none to awaken a general interest. We see many noticed by the reviewers-kindly and encouragingly noticed, and we doubt not their title to such approbation; but we do not deny ourselves one ordinary indulgence that we may buy them, or when they are bought, look upon them as a solid mass of substantial happiness set apart for our private and insatiable enjoyment. We do not reverence the authors