12 



He was also a poet. I do not say a popular poet, 

 for there was too much depth and originality of 

 thought and expression to secure at once the popular 

 applause too much purity and beauty of language, 

 and calm quiet depth of sentiment, to win its way to 

 the popular heart, save by slow steps. He was how- 

 ever a true poet. His Introits and Catena are both 

 works of a high order. I select the latter, because it 

 has just appeared in a new edition. It is curious to 

 see, how he constantly sought after perfection, and ela- 

 borated what he undertook to the last degree of polish. 

 The revised edition of this little work exhibits this 

 habit of his mind, in its most winning aspect. Words 

 are substituted, and lines altered, with a richness of 

 resources, that seems to know no exhaustion. It is a 

 string of pearls, not inappropriately called a Catena, 

 which will link his name to an immortality, in that 

 serene region, where the sacred muse most delights to 

 dwell, and where she weaves her freshest and most 

 beautiful garlands. The opening piece, the Prelude, 

 and the closing piece, the Yalete, are conceived in his 

 richest vein, and marked throughout with that pathos 

 and depth of feeling, which go direct to the heart. 

 They are exuberant in thought, musical in rhythm, 

 profound in sentiment, and full of heart-revealing. 

 They are gems of their kind, " apples of silver in pic- 

 tures of gold." The ideas in the second and third 

 stanzas are exquisite. 



"The pictures blurred and canvass torn 

 Of deeds mine own and others," 



with 



" the funeral march of figures tremulent " 



are splendid specimens of word painting. " The lumi- 

 nous chain, which o'erhung, in its span, the azure 



