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CTAhTTlWTini’TroiiA’ IT TffiW'n) A TD)W a wtwwwp kwWJ 11 ImlMoH MUMaMO UnMlMlilßi, TERMS, 52,00 per annum, in advance. (Original For the Southern Literary Gazette. A DIRGE. FOR WORDSWORTH. BY W C. RICHARDS. Oh, Nature, how art thou berelt— The high-priest at thine altars dead, His dust alone to thee is left— His mighty soul is fled : Gone from the frail embrace of Earth, To the glad regions of its birth. Weep, and thy heavy loss bewail. Thy skies in sackcloth should be hung ; And over mountain, plain and vale, The pall of sorrow flung: For thy great minister lies cold And mute beneath the spring’s fresh mould. His voice is hushed which evermore Was wout thy loveliness to sing ; And thou upon his grave must pour The first sad tears of Spring, Whose footstep by her ear was heard. Ere it awakened flower or bird. Thrice-honoured was thy poet-son. And crowned by thee with length of days ; Full eighty years his sands had run, Each adding to his praise : True to himself and true to thee, His name must needs immortal be. Pure was his life as pure his song ; No cloud obscures his well-earned fame ; j Bright mem’ries still our hearts will throng, i At mention of his name : And we, with Nature, will deplore, That Wordsworth lives on earth no more! j May, 1850. For the Southern Literary Gazette. TOO LATE. Farewell! Farewell! I cannot speak. What both must feel, yet neither hear, Thoughts are too strong and words too weak, For thy regret, or my despair. Our voice of anguish finds no tone In language taught by human art; Us speech is in the stifled moan, Its action in the breaking heart. To me hope’s sun no more shall rise,— Yet deeper is the wo to me, When I behold thy vacant eyes, To see it set for aye for thee. Thou should’st not suffer, —could I bear. For thee and ine, alike, the blow ; The guilt was mine alone, —the care, Oh! why should’st thou, the guiltless, know ! I hat fatal dream !—which hail not curst, Il cherish’d at an earlier day, When, by a purer passion nurst, I had not flung its flow’r away. Too late the thought! The deadliest pain, Fix’d deeply by the pow’r of fate. Is that we love and love in vain, And death is in the words—too late ! MAX. (origranl €alts. For the Southern Literary Gazette. THE MAROON. A LEGEND OF THE C’ARRIBEES. BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, ESQ. Author of “ The Yema-ssee,** etc. XVIII. Night came on in the vaulted cham ber of the lovely isle, occupied only by the Indian damsel and the “ Maroon.” W ithout, all was silent, except, now and then, the bark of the marmozet as he bounded among the cocoanut trees above. Several hours had elapsed since the sounds of the wild chauntof the wo men had failed upon his ears, yet our Spaniard maintained his place of hiding with religious quietude. Meanwhile, the girl fed the fires upon her altar.— She sat upon a rude swelling of the rocky floor, her hands folded in her lap, and the ends of her shortened hair rest ing upon her shoulders. Iler form was rather between the “ Maroon” and the lire. —the blaze of which, as she height ened it by occasional supplies of fuel, made marvellously distinct in his eyes the exquisite outline of her delicate but well marked profile. And thus she sat, and such was her only office for sever al hours more. It must have been full midnight, when our Spaniard, who had not slept an in stant, discovered that sleep had seized upon the senses of the Indian damsel. Her form subsided into an attitude fa vourable to rest. She sunk upon one side, her head resting upon a sudden elevation of the floor, which conducted to the niche which seemed to have been employed a couch on previous occa sions. and where, for the last two nights, Lopez himself had taken his rest. Her breathing was soft and regular. It de- j noted a calm and perfect sleep. lie was encouraged and gradually with drew from his place of concealment. — His steps were cautiously taken. He drew nigh to the sleeper —surveyed her with a keen and pleasant interest; —then, farther to be sure, he stole torth into the ante-chamber of the vault, and gliding cautiously, maintaining a vigilant watch all the while, he emerg ed trom the cavern, and stood upon the beach. The waters of the sea had gone down. The gray sands were quite un covered for a long stretch, the spot be ing wholly bare upon which the Indi an bark had anchored during the after noon. The moon was high in heaven, and at her full. No cloud obscured or sullied the blue serenity of the skies, fbe scene was eminently and wholly •spiritual. There was nothing human visible in the surrounding aspects of °cean, sky and land. Satisfied of this, OUr Maroon returned, with rather hur ried footsteps, to the cavern. He stole a mm niiL, mmm T 6 mmm*. im Am m mmm t m m mm& aiwfanaL back cautiously, however, so as not to disturb the damsel. She still slept, her position being totally* unchanged. But the fire had grown faint upon her altars, lie fed it with a handful of the fuel that lay contiguous, lie knelt beside her, and in the reviving blaze, he examined closely the innocent features, which he had thought so very sweet and beauti ful in the before imperfect light. The nearer survey did not lesson her loveli ness in his sight. Her closed eves, and her slightly parted lips, were studies for the sculptor, they were so delicate in their structure vet so admirably de fined. The features might have been thought Castilian. The forehead was high but narrow, the nose good, and the neck moderately large and smooth, rising into the gentle swell of a bosom which had not yet learned to heave with other than happy childish emotions. — One of her hands, the fingers of which were long and taper, had stolen to her breast, the partial drapery of which it seemed to grasp. The other lay at her side, the fingers closing upon a handful of wood intended for the fire. Thusshe slept. The “ Maroon” stooped and pressed his lips closely upon hers, She sighed deeply, but moved not. Again he re peated the kiss, and her eyes opened upon him. They closed involuntarily. Again they opened, and now with a wild, appealing expression. He had slightly retreated, as he found her about to waken. He had regained his feet, lie stood somewhat apart, the altar be ing in some degree between them. \\ e have spoken of the personal ap pearance of Lopez de Levya, as being pleasing to the eye of woman. At this moment it looked manly as w*ell as pleasing ; and, in the doubtful light of the cavern, with his form erect, his fea tures half shaded by the gloom, his knife at his girdle, and a rich red scarf about his waist, he might have served for the model of one of those brigands, acompound of Orson and Adonis, whom we see so commonly in Italian pictures. The impression was not unfavourable upon the eyes of the Indian damsel. — But her senses had evidently mingled the aspect before her with the object in her dream—the purpose of her watch and ordeal, —the beneficent creature vouchsafed by her savage gods, from whose guidance her future destiny was to be shaped and governed. The in stincts of the Spaniard were sufficiently acute to see the impression that he had made, and to conjecture, in some mea sure, its origin. Jle was well aware that the first impression of the Euro pean upon the Aborigines was that of a superior being. The devout appeal ing eyes of the damsel—her hands crossed upon her breast—satisfied our “ Maroon” that she held him to be so. lie advanced a single step, he smiled on her kindly, he raised one hand up ward to heaven, while he placed the oth er on his heart. She followed all his movements with others like them.— Her hand was lifted to heaven, and car ried to her breast. She too smiled, — the smile of innocent hope, that might have brought with it warmer assur ances. He spoke, sweetly and tender ly, but the words were lost upon inca pable but not unheeding senses. She shook her head with a mournfulness of look that told him, plain as words could speak, how sorrowful she was that she knew not what he said. But he smiled encouragingly, and resorted once more to signs to assure her of his affection. These site understood. The language of the heart is a very universal one. Charity and sympathy may speak and be understood, though they have not a word in common with the hearer, from the centre to the pole. She answered his signs. She pointed to the fires before her. She threw a fresh supply of fuel upon the blaze, then rising to her knees, knelt before him, and crossed her hands upon her bosom. He stooped, and took her in his arms. She would have receded, but he held her tenderly in his grasp, and once more pressed his lips upon hers. She sunk submissive in his em brace. She spoke, but a single sen tence, but one of its words smote his ear like a familiar accent. lie had pick ed up a few of the Caribbean phrases from Spaniards who had been among this people. The girl had designated him as ‘’the good White Spirit.” The word “ Spirit” had become a frequent one in the intercourse of the Jesuit mis sionaries with the heathen. God, and love, and heaven, good, bad, the sky, the sea, the boat, Castile, white and red man, —these, and several other words had, from the communion of the Span iards with the tribes of the Caribbean Sea, grown to be a tolerably common property with the two races. Lopez rapidly ran over in the ears of the girl all of this description which lie found it easy to remember on the instant. Some of these she repeated after him with ready acquiesence. Again she de scribed him as the good white spirit— her good white spirit —and he now un derstood her. He did not disabuse her. He feared to forfeit her reverence, in seeking to awake a humbler emotion ; and as the master of her destiny, a celestial visi tant, provided for her guidance, he pro ceeded to enforce her affections. He placed himself beside her —together they supplied the altar with fuel and incense, and when he kissed her lips, she crossed her arms upon her breast, and submitted with delighted rever ence. It was the benevolent -pirit whose favour she implored, who then, in his most gracious aspect presented himself in compliance with her invocations. — She had been taught to believe that he was difficult of approach,—slow to be won, —reluctant to appear ; —that it re quired earnest and long continued de votions, and a painful and protracted vigil. How fortunate was she among her sex, that, in her instance, he had de parted from his wonted severity!—that, instead of presenting himself, as he was reported frequently to have done, —in harsh and ungenial aspects —in the shape of bird, or beast, or reptile,—he had assumed his noblest attributes of form, and put on features not only of the highest, but of the tenderest char acter. Verily, she was the favoured among women ! The tones of the Span iard’s voice were to her sounds of the sweetest music from the Caribbean heaven. His smile was that glance of the morning or of the evening, when the brightness is equally rare and be nignant ; and, when his hand rested upon her cheek or neck, she felt the ! thrill of an emotion through all her veins, such as she had been taught to believe was vouchsafed only to the fa voured few, the select of the Caribbe an Elysium. Their eyes took part in ther constant intercourse, and never had Lopez looked or spoken with so successsful eloquence. Though she com prehended but few of his words, yet nothing was thrown away of all that fell from his lips. As at the first, in the primal hour of creation, the speech which heaven bestowed upon its crea tures was that of love, so love consti tutes the basis of that ancient language which it is still so easy for the heart to comprehend. Assisted by this heart manual, it was easy for Lopez to make his Spanish and her Indian words sub servient to their gradual use ; and ere they sunk exhausted into the mutual arms of sleep that night, they had com menced a course of study quite as rap id as the Robertsonian method, by which a modern or ancient dialect is to be mastered in six lessons. The bridal hour of the two exiles thus strangely brought together, promised to be as happy in its progress, as the destiny in which it had its origin was solemn and peculiar. With the dawn, the two awakened to neither repining nor repentance. Life had suddenly put on her loveliest aspects to both.— The Spaniard was no longer lonesome j in his solitude, and the damsel was hap py in the faith that she was favoured among women, by the very Deity to whom her sex devotes the most dutiful and earnest solicitations. XIX. The passion thus begun, and sanc tioned, as it would seem, b}’ an espec ial Providence, was neither slow to ripen nor of modified character. The very isolation of their abode, separated from till the world beside, tended to compel their affections eagerly, and in to the same channel. But it was not lon- before the Indian damsel learned © to comprehend the purely human cha racter of her companion. Her very love produced this discovery, since it could only exist in its natural intensity in the untutored mind, in the compar ative loss of its veneration. The young Spaniard no longer repined at his des olate condition. The fate to which he resigned himself had received its con solutions, and in the first'few days of his happiness, if he thought at all of his late comrades, it was with something of fear and misgiving, lest they should come and tear him away from an abode, in which he was equally free and happy. The morning after their first meet ing, he stole from her side while she yet slept, and from the ante-chamber of the cavern awakened her with a soft sweet strain from his guitar. It was the first time he had touched the strings since the instrument had been hung about his neck in mockery. She start ed from the mossy niche where she lay and lighting anew the fire upon her al tars, sank before it in the attitude ot prayer. A delirious delight was visi ble upon her countenance as the music reached her ears, and when Lopez look ed in upon her, she bore the expression of one whose whole soul was lifted with a sense of the divine favour. He made the guitar the instrument for her edu cation. She had the sweetest voice, herself, and for his music, gave him wild ballads of her own people, of which he could appreciathe the music only. But their words were rapidly interchanged. The lessons were con stant, and conveyed through numerous CHARLESTON. SATURDAY, JUNE 1. 1850. media of which the teacher in civilized life, can have no notion. Life itself depended on their progress, and when this is the case, the tuition must be marvellously rapid—love as well as life, —their daily sports, their mutual progress.—the exercise of their tastes —their consultations upon sea, and sky, and grove, the passage of the wild bird, —the bound of the marmozet —the ga thering of fruit, —the song, the dance, the sigh, the smile, —all these provoked their lessons and exercised their indus try in acquisition. It was not long be fore they declared themselves in sylla bles that took the place of simple sounds, —not long before the teacher could listen with delight to the childish prat tler at his side, whose accents would have seemed uncouth in the ears of crit ics only. Day by day, teaching and taught, the horizon of their hopes and affections sensibly expanded before their minds, and the damsel did not cease to be less innocent because she had learned not only to understand her own emotions, but to comprehend the real nature of the companion from whom she had learned the first great lesson of the woman heart. She was not less happy that, in losing a God, she had found a lover and a Lord ! XX. The world for a brief season seemed wholly surrendered to them- They lived for each other only ; and as they saw no other forms, so they forgot for a time, that they were to be disturbed by other beings of a nature like their own. Lopez had no hopes- —shall we call them fears?—that the Dian de Burgos would ever again appear to seek him out in his place of exile. He knew how serious and how terrible always were the jokes of his late tyrant, and never looked for his repentance. Nor did the poor Amaya—such was the name of the damsel—dream that her Caribbean kindred would ever sunder a union so marvellously wrought bv heaven. Her barbarous rites were neglected in the prompt realization of her dreams. This was due in great measure to the teachings of the “ Ma roon.” Already had he begun to be stow upon her some of his theology— crude and selfish as it was. The Agnus Dei which he put into her hands, was quite as frequently an object of her en treaty as it was of his. Their suppli cations, at morning and at evening to the Virgin, were twined together ; and it must be confessed, that, of the two, the poor pagan damsel was much more earnest in her prayers than the habit ual Christian. He taught her other lessons. Al ready had he began to conduct her fin gers among the strings of his guitar, and she, rejoicing at the merry tinkle which she produced, soon promised to acquire its language. The instrument was constantly in her keeping, except when she summoned him to perform upon it. Then she sat beside him, on the edge of the great ocean, and while the waters rolled and tumbled toward their feet, she listened to his chaunt— his fierce ballads of Spanish chivalry— comprehending but little of the story, but feeling all the sweetness of the mu sic, the more perhaps that the words were mysterious and vague. But their sports were not always of this subdued order, though they were scarcely less romantic—such, at least, as she now taught and encouraged him to practice. The sea was scarcely an object of terror to the practised swim mers of the Caribbean Isles. Amaya, like all the damsels of her people, had been accustomed to embrace its bil lows from her infancy. She soon taught the more apprehensive Lopez to pursue her in the waves. At the fall of the tide she led him off among the rocks, whose heads at such periods were distinctly visible. Here, resting on their dark gray summits, he beheld her, with a terror in which she did not share, leap down into the boiling black abyss es, and disappear wholly from his sight. Before he had yet recovered from his alarm, she reappeared, bring ing up with her the peculiar oyster, whose immedicable wounds give birth to the beautiful pearl which is so much valued, though not in the same degree, by Indian and European. After this discovery, our “ Maroon,” encouraged the sport which had first alarmed his fears. He too acquired courage from cupidity, and, being no bad swimmer, he learned to follow her into the grim recesses of the rocks, when the seas were at repose. lie reserved to him self the opening of the valves, so that he extricated the fruit from their em brace, without subjecting it to injury. Great was the wealth which he thus ac quired, to say nothing of the ancient treasures of the cavern. But these treasures, which he had not sought, were valueless where he was. His possessions, so unsuited to his present condition, first taught him to repine. When he looked upon his unprofitable stores, his thoughts imme diately yearned for the native land, in which they had made him famous.— With this recollection, his heart sad dened within him. He looked earnest -1 y along the ocean waste for some sign of his countrymen. He looked with a momentary indifference upon the sweet, j wild and artless creature, who gambol ed before his eyes, or crouched in con fidence beside him. Her keen glance beheld these changes. No change in his aspect ever escaped her vigilance. At such moments, she would incline herself timidly toward him —would draw his attention by little artifices, — would appeal to him in awkwark Cas tilian, which insensibly glided into her ; native ( aribbee tongue; —the broken] accents finally acquiring emphasis as ; they concluded in some sweet and for eign ditty—sometimes, with a playful ; fondness, she would assail his melan choly, by sudden plunges into the bil lows, striking out for the cluster of lit tle rocks; hiding in whose hollows, she would beguile him with a wild strain of her people, or in appealing fancies of her own, which might have found a fitting translation in such a ballad as the following: THE LAY OF THE CAR IB DAMSEL. ! I Come, seek the ocean’s depths with me, For there are joys beneath the sea, Joys, that when all is dark above, Make all below a home of love ! II In hollow bright and fountain clear, Lo ! thousand pearl await us there ; Arid amber drops that sea-birds weep In sparry caves along the deep. 111 A chrystal chamber there 1 know, Where never yet did sunshaft go ; The soft moss from the rocks, I take, Os this our nuptial couch to make. IV There, as thou yieldest on my breast, My songs shali soothe thy happy rest, — Such song3 as still our prophets hear, When winds and stars are singing near. V These tell of climes whose deep delight, Knows never change from day to night, Where, if we love, the blooms and flowers, And fruits, —shall evermore be ours. ‘ VI Oh ! yield thee to the hope I bring, Believe the truth I feel and sing, Nor teach thy spirit thus to weep, Thy Christian home beyond the deep. VII ’Tis little, —ah ! too well I know, The poor Amaya may bestow, — But if a heart that’s truly thine, Be worthy thee, O ! cherish mine ! VIII My life is in thy look—for thee, I bloom, as for the sun, the tree ; My hopes,—when thou forget’st thy woes, Unfold, as flow’rs when winter goes. IX And though, as our traditions say, There bloom the worlds of endless day, I would not care to seek the sky, If there thy spirit did not fly. It was impossible even for a heart so selfish as that of our “ Maroon,” wholly to resist a confidence so sweet and touching. The wild grace of her ac tion, the spiritual delicacy of her love, i thedelightful companionship with which she cheered his solitude —all succeeded, in the absence of any absolute tempta tions, to secure his continued devotion to her charms. But a change was destined to cast its shadow over their otherwise happy dreams. Three weeks of delight, with little interval, and scarcely any respite, laid passed since they first knew each other. No doubt of the security, as ( well as transport, of her condition, as sailed the heart of the Indian damsel; and if the Spaniard ever thought of his home, it was only as one of those vex ing fancies, which, as he could scarcely | hope to realize it, it was but childish to ] encourage. He made the most of his present happiness, and resigned himself to the possession of Amaya, with the more satisfaction, indeed, since, in a choice among a thousand, she still would most probably have been the object of his preference. But he did not the less regard the dowry which she brought him. He subjected his treasure to dai ly examination, and, when the weather served, to daily increase. His neces sities made him a miser. He did not the less enjoy the treasure, which it seemed he could never spend. XXL But anew prospect of freedom, in this respect, was about to open upon him. One morning, whilst our wealthy “ Maroon” was still engaged in the cleansing and assorting of his treasure, close in his cavern, —he was surprised by the sudden and unexpected entrance of Amaya, with words of wonder on her tongue, and looks of terror in her face. He hastily put his pearls from sight and hurried with her to the entrance of the cavern. There, in the sea-monster which alarmed her with a nameless fear, he beheld an object of scarcely less ter ror to himself. This was an European vessel. It might —it must be a Span iard—but it was still at too great a dis tance to enable him to solve his doubts, or to relieve or increase his apprehen sions. It was evidently approaching his islet; and for what visitor other than Velasquez should he look ? In a secure cover, on the top of his cavern, our “ Maroon,” with the trem bling Amaya beside him, watched the course of the stranger. Tue Indian girl beheld the anxiety of her companion, to describe the feeling at his heart, em bodied in his looks and actions, by its gentlest name ; and her own terrors increased accordingly. In the brief space of time between the first appear ance of the vessel, and his discovery of her true character, Lopez de Levya rap idly ran over in his mind the prospects of his condition—the probable object of the Dian de Burgos, and the effect of this return upon his fortunes. What had he to hope from Velasquez or the implacable Juan, his rival? What mo tive but that of mockery and a cruel curiosity would have brought either of them back to the spot where they had marooned him ? And should they search for him what was his hope of concealment ! He could hide from the Caribbeans, who had no suspicion of an}* presence hut their own, —but from the people of the Diande Burgos there was no concealment. They would search the island —they would discover the cavern, and not one of its crevices could be made safe against their pene trating eyes or their probing lances. A cold sweat covered the limbs of the miserable creature as his rapid thoughts coursed over the whole ground of his condition. And yet, it will scarce ly be believed that, thus doubtful of his own fate, he could yet think of conceal ing his newly gotten treasure. Ilehur ried back into his cave, counselling Amaya still to maintain her watch upon the stranger. In secret he toiled to place his pearls in security. The cre vice which let in the light on one side the vault, he busily crammed with the soft moss and leaves taken from the couch in which he had slept. The light being excluded, he placed his baskets of treasure along the ledge and conceal ed them in like manner. Nothing but the closest search, under the stimula ting influence of a suspicion that some thing was concealed, could have led to the discovery of his possessions. There was no way of hiding himself in the same manner; and, full of the most horrible apprehensions,he joined Amaya upon the eminence. It was now necessary to think of her. Should Velasquez suspect the treasure —should Juan obtain sight of her, or any of the Spaiards—she would be torn from his arms with unscrupulous vio lence. To conceal her, it was neces sary that the cave should be kept from their knowledge. He conducted her into its recesses. lie showed her where he himself had been hidden, and easily persuaded her to seek shelter in its dusky recesses. She might hope to escape unnoticed, even if the cave were penetrated ; but her safety, should the bark be the Dian de Burgos, lay only in showing himself. Upon this policy, trembling still to encounter the cruel Velasquez, and insidious and hateful Juan, the “Maroon” resolved. He continued his watch in secrecy, though passing from copse to copse ; he left the neighborhood of his cavern, as theehew it flies always from the spot where her young are hidden. The vessel approached that part of the island where he had been landed. This increased his fears that she was that of his tyrant. If he came to mock, it was the game of Lopez to implore and seem repentant. If to pardon, it was his policy rather to appear surly and provoke his enemy to continued hostility ; —for, though anxious to reach Spain with his treasure, yet our “ Ma roon” well knew that, with Juan or Ve lasquez as a master, the very suspicion of his great possessions would be fatal to his life. Better, then, to delay the day of his restoration than peril every thing on a hope so doubtful. But, in truth, Lopez de Levya was not in a con dition of mind to resolve on any policy, lie was now, as he had ever been be fore, the creature of events ! XXII. These, for once at least, proved fa vourable to his fortunes. We have al ready detailed the fearful circumstances which had changed the dynasty on board the Dian de Burgos. Linares and Ma ria de Pacheco were now the masters, but the former had no control over the proud intelligent spirit by whom the whole proceeding had been counselled. He was a mere seaman—a bold, strong man, who, conscious of his own deficien cies, was not unwilling to supply them from the stores of one who had so much identified her fortunes with his own.— She asked for little in return, and that he was disposed to accord. He was the captain of the ship, but she was the guiding spirit. He did not seek her af fections. On this point, indulgent, per haps, on all Others, she had shown her self equally resentful and inflexible. — But, it will suffice for us that they un derstood each other, and that Linares lent himself to her project of rescuing Lopez. The latter had but little es teem among the seamen, but he had been harmless, was really gentle in his nature in proportion as he was timid, and his cruel punishment had w r on their pity and their sympathies. The sailor THIRD-VOLUME,-NO. 5 WHOLE NO. 105. of that day looked upon the “ Maroon” as doomed to a much worse punish ment than death! Impatient, on the prow of the Dian de Burgos, stood the proud but anxious woman as the ship approached the shore. Concealed among a cluster of young palms, Lopez beheld her; and, in the position which she held, her ea ger attitude and outstretched hand, he at once inferred some great change in her fortunes and his own. His heart was instantly strengthened. He (‘ante forth from his hiding place, and the ship, dropping her anchors, Maria de Pache co was the first to descend into the boat which now hurried to the shore. W e need not attempt to depict her rap tures or his own. In her case they were those of a strong, impetuous nature — her very fondness being linked with an arrogance of will, which rather com pelled and commanded, than solicited affection in return. The submissive spirit of the “ Maroon” did not dare to withhold the expression of a joy, and the declaration of an attachment be yond any which he possibly could feel. Perhaps, of the two persons, there was much more in the gentle and depen dent nature of Amaya, to persuade him into love, than in that of the imperious woman whom he had certainly learned to fear. But she brought with her something more than the poor Indian girl could offer. Her coming promised him a restoration to his country, and the privilege of growing famous in the use of his Caribbean treasures. The very dowry of Amaya was hostile to her claims. Os this dowry,—of Amaya herself, —he religiously forbore to whis per aught to the proud woman who stood beside him, and who naturally spoke and thought as if she were as much the mistress of his heart as she was of his fate. She soon told him all her story, and he revealed such portions of his, as might satisfy her inquiries without provoking any doubts. He described the beauties of his islet. He showed her where he had often slept, beneath the palms. He gathered for her his fresh and luscious fruits, and in the delight and wonder with which she beheld this new paradise, and in the happy consciousness of the attainment of all for which she had striven, at such fearful sacrifice of pride and feminine feeling, she yielded herself up to the sweet and innocent attractions which gathered around her. It was with a vague feeling of terror that he heard her declare her purpose to explore his em pire, and te see, for herself, the beauti ful retreats and resources which had so singularly fallen to his possession. (Concluded in our next.) t’jjf llroinner. For the Southern Literary Gazette. LIVING AUTHORS OF AMERICA. BY J. A. TURNER. SECOND PAPER The Living Authors of America. First Series. By Thomas Powel, author of the “ Living Authors of England,” &c. New York: Stringer &, Townsend. 1850. Edgar A. Poe is placed by our au thor in that high position as a man of genius and intellect which he deserves. He is “inclined to think, in a few years, he (Mr. Poe) will chiefly be remem bered for his tales, and that his poeti cal works will dwindle into a snuill compass, composed of half a dozen poems.” Had our author said Mr. Poe would be remembered for his essays as well as his tales, 1 could agree with him. While I have the greatest reverence for the genius of the author of the “ Raven,” I cannot believe that he ranks high as a poet. His “Ration ale of Verse” is one of the best and most philosophical essays I ever read. As 1 hope in some future paper to be able to present my views of Mr. Poe as a writer, I drop him for the present. The sin of English hexameters is very heavily laid at Mr. Longfellow’s door. The old and just charges of im itation, if not plagiarism, and of artifi ciality, are brought against him. Mr. Powel winds up his notice of Longfel low by the following passage: “ We conclude this attempt to exam ine the works of a popular poet, by the opinion that his great want is sell-reli ance. He is too apt to consult poetical precedents, instead of boldly elialking out a path for himself. His very stu dies have been against him. When a poet trusts to another for his faults, he will soon lose his individuality. W e do not say this has actually happened to Mr. Longfellow, but we see many evidences of a tendency to indulge in that fatal habit, which we think in this case springs more from indolence than want of power. Let him resolutely think and write for himself, retaining his force, elegance, and purity of dic tion, but throwing from him his undue elaboration and diffusiveness ot execu tion : let him care less for what others have written, and more ot what he ought and can write, and boldly throw ing away his artificial supports, soar, unaided, into an element of his own: let him scorn another’s balloon, and boldly take to his own wings, and then America will have reason to consider as one of her best poets, Henry “NV ads worth Longfellow.” Mr. Powel finds fault with the char acter Mr. Prescott has given ilernando Cortes. He thinks this author the greatest historian America has ever produced, and thinks he is “fully equal to sustain an honourable comparison with his European brethren. After alluding to the “besetting sins of the principal writers of history,’ he thus discourses of Prescott: “Now the American writer has brought to his task, patience, learning, an earnest desire to elicit the truth, a clear and picturesque style, a wish to acquaint the reader with all the promi nent circumstances of the case, and a thorough knowledge of the importance of throwing himself into the prevailing opinions, feelings and customs of the times described. “These are strong points in his fa vour, and we feel assured the verdict of posterity will be, that, although he is inferior to some of his fellow-labour ers in that individual force which con stitutes genius, he is far more qualified to present to the public the aggregate result of his various labours.” Os William Cullen Bryant, Mr. Powel says: “ There is a calm, classical dignity about Mr. Bryant’s muse, which, in the eyes of many, is considered as an equi valent for that lire and energy w hich is so fascinating to the lovers of poetry. The tone of his productions is elevated, but not stirring. We assent to his re flections: we do not feel with him. There is nothing rapid and breathless in his flights: they are equable and sustained. There is an air of Grecian elegance about his writings, which con vinces us he never abandoned himself to the impulses of the Pythoness. At times, this amounts to a severity which chills his readers, and impresses them with the idea that he is moralizing in verse, and not throwing off the rushing thoughts that crowd his brain in the first bold snatches of sound. There is more of cultivation of the poet than of the nature or instinct; indeed, occa sionally, the determination to compose is painfully apparent; it seems an effort of his will, and not a revelation of his hidden spirit.” Os Fitz Greene Halleck, Mr. Powel says: “lie has fancy, versification, a keen eye for the incongruous, and a taste for the beautiful; but against these gifts must be set off his want of earnest ness.” Now 1 must confess I see no want of earnestness in Halleck. I see just the contrary, and if I had to choose between the laurels of all the American poets, with my present impression, I should take those of the immortal author of Marco Bozzaris. Richard Henry Dana is first spoken of as a poet and then as a prose w riter. “There is less reliance upon foreign sources for his subjects; lus likewise treats them in a manner of his own, which compels the reader to respect him for his intention, if he cannot applaud him for the successful result of his ex periment. “There is a total absence of all taw dry or adventitious embellishments in this old poet’s verse, which stands out in bold relief to the artificial elegances and cuckoo-note tracks of many modem and fashionable authors. “Mr. Dana’s prose is remarkably clear. It is a far stronger order of writing than Irving’s or Willis’s; but we miss in it the sly humour of the one and the piquant liveliness of the other: the whole is made in a firmer mould. There is nothing very original either in thought or expression, but in lieu we have sound, earnest feeling, in good strong English, flic chief fault is an amplitude of execution, which borders on the tedious. There is an absence of those flashes of imagination which light up a page and illuminate the whole subject. In short, Mr. Dana is one of the old school, and abominates the new’ fashions of composition.” Os Mrs. Osgood, Mr. Powel says: “The chief merits of our fair writer are tenderness of feeling and grace of suppression. As we observed before, she too frequently sacrifices the strength of the thought to the beauty of the words; and even here she often fails, from her diffusiveness and wish to say all that can be said on the theme she lias in hand. She has a lively fancy, but little imagination; and her fancy is sometimes displayed so artificially as to induce the reader to put it down al together to the score of mere prettiness ot thought and conceit of expression. Still there are a feminine power, pathos and tenderness about the writings of Mrs. Osgood which will always render her one ol the most pleasing poets of the New World.” I give a few extracts from Mr. Pow - ell notice of S. Margaret Fuller: “At this present time, there are three women who greatly resemble each other in their intellectual nature: and they belong to the three greatest na tions in the world. France has her Madame Dudevant, or better known by the name of George Sand; England her Elizabeth Barrett; and America her Margaret Fuller. Singular to add, they are all now within a short distance of each other, two being in Italy and the other in Paris. The personal meet ing of these, the first women of the age, must be of extraordinary interest, and we should cheerfully barter away a year of our own existence to listen to their communings for one day.” I shall begin to think Mr. Powel has great length of ears if he is thus wil ling to barter away his years. But to proceed with the extracts: “We have carefully read, and at first with a prejudiced eye, all her writings, and we see no ground for the objec tions which have been made against her doctrines.” “Miss Fuller’s poetry partakes of