If any, born of kindlier blood,

Should ask, What maiden lies below?
Say only this: A tender bud.

That tried to blossom in the snow.

Lies withered where the violets blow.

"His best lines are a series of rhymed pictures, witticisms, or sentiments, let off with the precision and brilliancy of the scintillations that sometimes illumine the northern horizon. The significant terms, the perfect construction, and acute choice of syllables and emphasis, render some passages of Holmes absolute models of versification, especially in the heroic measure. Besides these artistic merits, his poetry abounds with fine satire, beautiful delineations of nature, and amusing caricatures of

POE.

EDGAR ALLAN POE was born in the city of Baltimore, January, 1811. In early youth he lost both parents, and was adopted by John Allan, a wealthy and generous. hearted merchant of Richmond, Virginia, and by him afforded all the facilities for obtaining a liberal education.

In 1816, Poe accompanied his benefactor to England, and remained in London until his eleventh year, attending school. He then returned home, and after spending a short time at an academy in Richmond, entered the university at Charlottesville. Here he speedily became as notorious for intemperate habits as he was distinguished for proficiency in studies and athletic sports. For the former he was shortly expelled from the school.

This disgraceful event was followed, at no great interval, by a rupture with Mr. Allan, most probably because the latter's liberality refused to keep pace with his own prodigality; when he left home with the determination, like the illustrious Byron, of assisting the Greeks in their struggle for liberty.

His purpose, however—if indeed it was ever anything more than a momentary impulse seems to have readily deserted him; for, although he spent a year in Europe. and traveled extensively, he did not so much as reach Greece.

On returning home, Mr. Allan magnanimously received him into former favor, and was instrumental in procuring him a cadetship at West Point. But in less than a year both his tastes and his dissolute habits demonstrated, beyond question, his utter unfitness for this school of stern discipline and practical life. Shortly after, he had a final disagreement with Mr. Allan, and thenceforth was com pelled to rely on his own resources.

Between his sixteenth and nineteenth years, Poe wrote verse, which were published in 1829, with the title of Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems. "A certain vague poetic luxury and sensuousness of mere sound, distinct from definite meaning-peculiarities which the author refined upon in his latest and best poems-characterize these juvenile effusions.” *

AL AARAAF: AN EXTRACT.

YOUNG flowers were whispering in melody
To happy flowers that night-and tree to tree;
Fountains were gushing music as they fell
In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell;
Yet silence came upon material things-
Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings-
And sound alone that from the spirit sprang
Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang:

"Neath blue-bell or streamer

Or tufted wild spray

That keeps, from the dreamer,

The moonbeam away-
Bright beings! that ponder,

With half-closing eyes,

On the stars which your wonder
Hath drawn from the skies,

Till they glance thro' the shade, and
Come down to your brow
Like-eyes of the maiden
Who calls on you now-
Arise! from your dreaming
In violet bowers,
To duty beseeming

These star-litten hours

And shake from your tresses
Encumber'd with dew

The breath of those kisses

That cumber them too

* Duyckinck's Cyclopædia of American Literature.

(O! how, without you, Love!

Could angels be blest?)
Those kisses of true love
That lull'd ye to rest!
Up!-shake from your wing
Each hindering thing:
The dew of the night-

It would weigh down your flight And true love caresses

O! leave them apart!

They are light on the tresses,
But lead on the heart.

Ligeia! Ligeia !

My beautiful one! Whose harshest idea

Will to melody run,

O! is it thy will

On the breezes to toss?

Or, capriciously still,

Like the lone Albatross, Incumbent on night

(As she on the air)

To keep watch with delight
On the harmony there?

Ligeia! wherever

Thy image may be,
No magic shall sever
Thy music from thee.
Thou hast bound many eyes
In a dreamy sleep-
But the strains still arise

Which thy vigilance keep

The sound of the rain

Which leaps down to the flower,

And dances again

In the rhythm of the shower-The murmur that springs

From the growing of grass

Are the music of things

But are modell'd alas!

Away, then, my dearest,
O! hie thee away

To springs that lie clearest
Beneath the moon-ray-
To lone lake that smiles,

In its dream of deep rest,
At the many star-isles

That enjewel its breast-
Where wild flowers, creeping,
Have mingled their shade,
On its margin is sleeping
Full many a maid-

Some have left the cool glade, and
Have slept with the bee—
Arouse them, my maiden,

On moorland and lea-
Go! breathe on their slumber,

All softly in ear,

The musical number

They slumber'd to hear

For what can awaken

An angel so soon

Whose sleep hath been taken
Beneath the cold moon,

As the spell which no slumber
Of witchery may test,

The rhythmical number

Which lull'd him to rest?"

In 1833, Poe, through his prize tale, A MS. Found in a Bottle-first published, however, in 1831-made the acquaintance of Mr. Kennedy, the novelist, and, through his influence, shortly afterwards became a regular contributor to the Southern Literary Messenger. His connection with this magazine lasted until 1837, and, though marked with high ability, was, sad to relate! terminated by his irregularities.

MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE (abridged).

AFTER many years spent in foreign travel, I sailed in the year 18 from the port of Batavia, in the rich and populous island