PSALM CXXXVII. "1. The rivers on of Babilon, there when wee did sit downe, "2. Our harp wee did hang it amid Because they there that us away "3. Requir'd of us a song; and thus "4. The Lord's song sing can wee? being Loose her skill my right hand if I "5. Let cleave my tongue my pallate on If chiefe joyes o're I prize not more "6. Remember Lord, Edoms sons' word, It rase it rase, when as it was "7. Blest shall hee bee that payeth thee daughter of Babilon, Who must be waste, that which thou hast "8. O happie hee shall surely bee that taketh up, that eke Thy little ones against the stones The reverend translators of the Psalms seemed to have been themselves aware of the hirsuteness of their productions, as the preface to their publication indicated; for, said they, "if the verses are not alwaies so smoothe and elegant as some may desire and expect, let them consider that God's altar needs not our polishing," &c. The original psalm, of which the foregoing is a version, is full of divine feeling, and in the hands of a true poet, whose inspirations are not fettered to the drudgery of a literal translation, it is susceptible of a perfect paraphrase. The tone of beauty and melancholy, which so eminently characterises the original, may be infused into every line of the English version; VOL. XVIII.-NO. 37. 14 and, so far from this freedom of translation detracting from the sacred character of the subject, it would rather be a protection from the profane ridicule of the frivolous and unthinking. A word here on the subject of translations. Many of our youthful aspirants for the honours of Parnassus, begin their career by poetical versions from Latin authors; and most of them seem to think that a rigid adherence to their original is necessary to preserve the resemblance between it and the translation. This is a great error. Before a translation can be produced, which may lay claim to the smallest merit as an imitation, it will be necessary closely to investigate the relations which exist between the two languages. When Latin is rendered into English, it does not follow that a word should be adopted which corresponds literally in signification with the original; but the meaning that the Latin authors intended to convey must first be considered, and then the words, which will carry the same meaning in the English language, should be used in the translation. The ideas of the original author should be translated as well as the words, even in prose; and in a poetical version, the translator should endeavour to imitate, as well as to render. Thus, for example, take a line from Horace, "Creditur, ex medio quia res arcessit, habere Sudoris minimum” which is translated (we believe by Addison) as follows,"To write on vulgar themes is thought an easy task❞— In this way the sense of the author is duly respected, and his refinement preserved inviolate-whereas a literal translation of the line would be the extreme of coarseness and vulgarity. We proceed, in further proof of our position, to the quotation of another version of the 137th psalm. It is by Halleck. The reader may make his own comparison. "We sat us down and wept, And we thought of home and Zion as a long gone happy dream; On the willow boughs which there, Gloomy as round a sepulchre, were drooping o'er the stream. "The foes, whose chain we wore, Were with us on that shore, Exulting in our tears that told the bitterness of wo. 'Sing us,' they cried aloud, 'Ye, once so high and proud, The songs ye sang in Zion ere we laid her glory low.' "And shall the harp of heaven, To Judah's monarch given, Be touched by captive fingers, or grace a fettered hand? No! sooner be my tongue Mute, powerless, and unstrung, Than its words of holy music make glad a stranger land. "May this right hand, whose skill And bid the listener's joys or griefs in light or darkness come, If for one brief, dark hour, My heart forgets Jerusalem, fallen city of my home! "Daughter of Babylon! Blest be that chosen one, Whom God shall send to smite thee when there is none to save; Shall pluck the babe at rest, And lay it in the sleep of death beside its father's grave." Before we remark at large upon the works, whose titles are placed at the head of this article, we will take occasion to mention a few of the poets of this country, who are most distinguished in lyrical composition. We regard James G. Percival as one of the few poets in the world, who, standing in the first rank of a bad school of poetry, has succeeded in imparting an universal fascination to many of his compositions. It does appear to us that he who adopts the style of the Lakists as his model, is generally devoid of the true spirit of poetry. He seeks by metaphysical abstractions, and depth of learning, to compensate for the absence of a poetical imagination. He drags forth hidden resemblances, and combines forced associations, which, in nine instances out of ten, will be found dissimilar to each other; and his writings are shrouded in a veil of mystery, which the reader may seek in vain to penetrate. These, in our opinion, are the distinguishing characteristics of the Lake poets, and if Percival may claim some exemption from the general attributes of his class, it is because he possesses a natural genius, that, despite of himself, shines through the mist with which he envelops it. A rich poetical imagination, coupled with the faculty of abstract reflection and reasoning, may sometimes succeed in giving interest to a bad species of composition, or an ill chosen subject; but a combination of these two faculties of the mind is so rare a circumstance, that the world of letters has almost ceased to look for it. The productions of even such a writer are often unintelligible to an ordinary mind; and there are hundreds of passages in the works of Shelley, take, for instance, the "Revolt of Islam," which we defy the most profound metaphysician in the universe to elucidate. The poetry of Percival bears evident marks of hasty composition. It seems to have been sent to the press, precisely as it came from his pen, without revision, or the slightest alteration. There is no nicety exhibited in the selection of words; no suppression of the redundance of images. Every thought that is presented to his mind is written, and all that is written is published. This hurried style of composition has many disadvantages; but in the case of Percival it is the carelessness of a man who feels confident that his genius will not betray him. We wish to refer more especially, however, to the lyrics of Percival; and in these, it will be seen, that he shines forth in the character of a true poet. We give the following serenade as an instance. It is simple, touching, and beautiful. "Softly the moonlight To the lively guitar. "Trees cast a mellow shade Over the vale, "See, the light pinnace At the heave of the oar; On its buoyant car, Like diamonds shine, Of the gondolier's song. "And high on the stern Stands the young and the brave, The star-spangled wave, "His gold-hilted sword On his shoulder is flung, "The maid from the lattice The bright billow break; And to hear, in his boat, Where he shines like a star, Her lover so tenderly Touch his guitar. "She opens the lattice, Of the moonlight and starlight, And she sings in a voice That is broken with sighs, "His love-speaking pantomime How wild in that sunny clime, She waves, with her white hand, "The moonlight is hid Re-echoed, they swell From the rock on the hill, We are not quite satisfied with the stanza which precedes the last, our own experience will not enable us to say, whether the passion of love causes such revolutionary movements in the hearts and eyes of lovers as our author speaks of, but to us the expression seems to border closely on the burlesque. This is a fault, however, to which want of care will subject any writer. Space will not allow us to give further instances from the lyrics of this excellent poet; and, therefore, merely referring to his beautiful lines "On Spring," as well as to those "On Consumption," we pass on to William Cullen Bryant. The greater part of Bryant's poetry belongs also to the Lake school, yet it appears to us far less misty and confused than that of most poets of his class. It is written with much more care; and, therefore, is more polished than the compositions of Percival, and is more easy and graceful, because more regular. No startling and abrupt images are employed, for the purpose of surprising the reader into admiration; but the images which are used are judiciously chosen, and skilfully introduced. There is more depth of feeling and lofty sentiment, and fewer glaring faults than in the poetry of Percival, but there is also less boldness and excursiveness of fancy; and, as it were, a certain timidity which marks a less original genius. The lyric poems of Bryant are distinguished by delicacy and richness, and their unvarying fidelity to nature. They contain no violations of good taste, by overstrained or feeble comparisons; and no daring flights or bold digressions, but he speaks to the heart of man in the eloquent language of feeling. An unpretending beauty marks the following lines, "To a Waterfowl." "Whither, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, "Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, "Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, "There is a power whose care |