18 21 .] 
The Backwoodsman. 
227 
tempts to dissuade him fromhis project, 
to emigrate further west, and join the 
settlers in the Back woods, where he 
is informed that the means not only of 
procuring a comfortable subsistence, 
but of realizing an ample competence, 
are attainable by active and persevering 
industry. The poem proceeds to give 
an account of Basil’s journey, his set¬ 
tling, and his gradual prosperity. It 
then relates the interruption of the 
peace of the settlers by the attack of 
the Indian tribes in their vicinity, led 
on by an enthusiast among them, who 
imagines himself a prophet, and by 
a European renegade. With the defeat 
of the savages, and a patriotic apos¬ 
trophe to the writer’s native country, 
the poem rather abruptly concludes. 
Our readers will probably agree with 
us in opinion, that these are rather je¬ 
june materials for a poem of six cantos. 
The tale, however, is well told; the 
interest is sustained throughout, and is 
much stronger than would be imagined 
Irom reading a mere sketch of the nar¬ 
rative. The incidents and characters, 
particularly the latter, do great credit 
to the author’s powers of conception, 
i he pictures of the renegade, and of 
the enthusiast savage, are admirably 
drawn. We have seldom seen a more 
vigorous and just description than 
that of the operation of deep rooted 
revenge, in the mind of the vindictive 
fanatic, till it creates that mixture of 
superstition and cunning, which, alter¬ 
nately the deceiver and the deceived 
has so often rendered subservient to its 
own purposes, the ignorance and cre¬ 
dulity of mankind. The interest at¬ 
tached to the delineating of local 
scenery, must certainly be more fully 
felt by us than by those who are fami¬ 
liar with the scenes described: but 
they are marked by what may be term¬ 
ed internal evidences of fidelity, and 
are in general richly poetical. 
U is probably as an apology for the 
.paucity of events in the tale, that the 
author tells us in the preface, that the 
stoiy was merely assumed, as affording 
an easy and natural way of introducing 
a greater variety of scenery, as well as 
more diversity of character. Indeed 
were the tale much more meagre than 
it is, we should feel grateful to the 
uliter for having made it the vehicle 
of poetry abounding with the beauties 
°. , . ar *5 an( l in many instances of 
the highest order. But it is high time 
to terminate these prefatory remarks, 
and enable our readers, by extracts 
from the work itself, to judge of the 
merits of the poet, particularly as we 
feel assured that they will be produc¬ 
tive of more entertainment than any 
criticisms of ours. 
The following passages are no unfa¬ 
vourable specimens of descriptive ta¬ 
lent : the first two will probably suggest 
to most who read them the recollection 
of a very popular poet of our own 
country. 
“ The moon, high wheel’d the distant hills 
above, 
Silver dthe fleecy foliage of the grove, 
1 hat, as the wooing zephyrs on it fell, 
W hisper’d it lov’d the gentle visit well. 5 ’ 
W ho can resist the coaxing voice of 
spring, 
When flowers put forth, and sprightly song¬ 
sters sing ? 
He is no honest son of mother earth, 
And shames the holy dame that gave him 
birth. 
We are her children : and when forth she 
hies, 
Dress’d in her wedding suit of varied dyes, 
Beshrew the churl that does not feel her 
charms, 
And love to nestle in her blooming arms. 
He has no heart, or such a heart, as I 
W ould not possess forall beneath the sky!” 
<l Twas sunset’s hallow’dtime ;—and such 
an eve 
Might almost tempt an angel heaven to 
leave. 
Never did brighter glories meet the eye, 
Low in the warm and ruddy western sky ^ 
Nor the light clouds, at summer eve, unfold 
More varied tints of purple, red, and gold. 
Some in the pure translucent, liquidbreast 
Of the clear lake, seem’d auehcr’d fast to 
rest 5 
Like golden islets, scatter’d far and wide, 
By elfin skill, in Fancy’s fabled tide.’' 
In the following simile, there is a 
pathetic and natural sweetness too 
rarely found in poetry : 
“ So when the wand’ring grandsire of our 
race, 
On Ararat had found a resting-place, 
At first a shoreless ocean met his eye. 
Mingling on ev’ry side with one blue sky. 
But, as the waters every passing day 
Sunk in the earth, or roll’d in mists away. 
Gradual, the lotty hills like islands peep 
From the rough bosom of the boundless 
deep. 
Then the round hillocks, and the meadows 
green, 
Each after each, in freshen’d bloom are 
seen; 
Till, at the last, a fair and finish’d whole 
Combin’d to win the gazing patriarch’s soul. 
Yet oft lie look’d, I ween, with anxious eve, 
■ la 
