Tales as the breath of April sweet,
And fresh in their antiquity;
Or, with ‘difference discreet,'
Chaunts his pious legendry,

That at its warbled melody, the notes

Of list'ning birds die noiseless in their throats-
The winds in eager silence swoon around,

And all the green leaves tremble at the sound."

Saving the three concluding lines, the stanza which alludes to Spenser is also altogether admirable. The poet, raised by his enthusiasm to the temperament of the most "poetical of poets," catches all his golden imagery, and is imbued with all his airy and mysterious fancy; but suddenly, alas! he falls, "all platte," into the depths of the veriest common-place;-as far from Spenser's romantic heights as Satan fell, when he defied "the Omnipotent to arms."

"And, Spenser, like the sunset sky when bright
With golden isles, and silent seas of light,
That spread along the shore-like blue,
Laving some snow-piled mountain hoary,
Or stretching far, then lost to view
Behind some cloud-cliff'd promontory,-
While spires and battlements that rise,
And baseless turrets in the skies,
And silver swans and dragons there,
Suspended in the enchanted air,

With half-believing eyes

I see

Great Edmund! when thine inward glory

Lights up the cloudy allegory!

Such my soul is made by thee."

From the "Hymn to Niagara" we shall make no extracts. It is more compactly welded together than "Worship," and evinces a steadier purpose. It has fewer transferable beauties than either of its companions; and, we think, is inferior to both of them. We cannot forbear, however, to give a fine passage from "The Sky:"

"Thou hast seen ocean, in the hour

When whirlwinds rouse its sluggish might
To wrestle with their viewless power;-
And more, hast felt, too vast for sight,
How far it stretch'd beyond the lower
Of that rude storm and scowling night,
In which the headlands seem'd to cower
Into calm realms and tranquil light."

Our swift pace brings us athwart two singular and Poe-like poems, "clad in rugged and miscellaneous gear blown together by the four winds," and which that carping demon, criticism, is at our elbow tempting us to hurl a blow at; but we hasten on, leaving the

and

"Isle, the island fair and pleasant,"

"The clear Castalian fountain,

(Silver fountain)-ever tinkling,"

slumbering profoundly on their own pools of platitude and alliteration; while we turn with pleasure to those modest children of his fancy, "Saint Mary's Gift," and the sweet "Song of a Dying Maid." As the soul of the mother goes out to her puny and crippled boy, despite the proud proportions and manly strength of his brothers; as her spirit yearns fondly toward him, and her heart dances with transport while she gazes upon his eye, now beaming with strange intelligence, now lighted up by the mild fires of love and affection, or overflowing with tearful sympathy; so we, if we were the poet, would treasure these beautiful and unassuming poems far before their more pretending mates. "Saint Mary's Gift" is in the Spenserian stanza, so called; which it almost servilely imitates, even to the alliteration. It manifests an affectation of old-time words and phrases, a forced quaintness of thought, and an antiquated accentuation, all which are yet congenial with the legend, and invest it with a presence of beauty and harmony that add to its real and intrinsic merits. It and its humble companion are complete anomalies, when compared with his other productions, being radically dissimilar to all of them. There is a warmth about them which adds not only to the poet's stature, but to that of the man also. His other efforts are like a marble statue, beautiful, indeed, and faultless to the sight; but cold, deathly cold, to the touch. These are like the warm and living flesh, thrilling the heart and causing the frame to tingle as at the actual touch of

"A being breathing thoughtful breath."

The following charming picture is from "Saint Mary's Gift:""Lo! she sees in humblest attitude

Before the shrine a maiden that adored,

With meek, uplifted eyes, the mother of the Lord.

The sun still stood upon the skyey shore

Of the blue east, and through the glistering air

*See also that fine ballad, "The Forest," page 100.

Threw his slant beams, that in the open door
Pencil'd with golden light her flowing hair,
And all her form: that she so meekly fair,

And still, and rapt as pictured saint might be,
Like saint-like seem'd as her she did adore."

From the same poem we transfer this life-like painting :

"Unto the tomb wherein he deem'd she lay,

All unperceived of any eye he went,

And while they still misdeem'd him far away,
He stood before that ancient monument;
He knew not in himself with what intent.
Beneath the portal's crevice, from within,
Into the moonlight crept a golden ray

That made it seem more ghastly pale and thin;
He wrench'd the door ajar, and wonderingly stepp'd in.

And there within an open tomb was laid,
With lighted tapers at her head and feet,
That flicker'd in the blast, a lovely maid,
Whose youthful innocence and beauty sweet
Kept the flowers fresh upon her winding sheet,
And as the gusty wind did rise and fall,
From old armorial tombs with knights display'd,
Arm'd shadows seem'd to threat upon the wall,
As if to guard from harm her slumbers virginal.
He on his knees sank, awed and tremblingly,
Before that image of fair maidenhead,
While life and death changed looks dissemblingly;
For such a paleness in his features spread,
That she the live might seem, and he the dead;
And all around the shadows toward the maid

And flamy tapers blended semblably,

While he, with arms upon his sword-hilt stay'd,

And fix'd and marble look, bent forward half-affray'd."

We take leave of Mr. Lord with high hopes for him in the future, charging him at the same time to remember that

"Not on downy plumes, nor under shade

Of canopy reposing, fame is won.

And although we fancy that at five and forty he will have written less poetry than he would now fain call by that name, we yet augur for him an honorable rank among our native poets.

D.

ART. IV.-Christ the only Sacrifice: or, the Atonement in its Relations to God and Man. By NATHAN S. S. BEMAN, D. D. With an Introductory Chapter, by S. H. Cox, D. D. Second edition, revised, rewritten, enlarged, and improved. New-York: Mark H. Newman. 1844. And a review of the work in the Biblical Repertory and Princeton Review, vol. xvii, No. 1.

THE atonement is eminently the great central doctrine in that system of truth contained in divine revelation; the only system of religion ever presented to man which can be regarded as containing ample provision for the salvation of his ruined race. The system is only healthful, vigorous, and efficient in proportion as this doctrine is clearly and scripturally apprehended and maintained in the pulpit and by the press. But enervation and inefficiency have ever marked the history of its action on community in just the same proportion as the atonement has been obscured, held in error, or wholly set aside by a misguided fancy, or a false philosophy. In just how far the teachers of religion depart from the long-established and well-defined Scriptural land-marks in regard to this vital doctrine, in just so far the gospel in their hands becomes another gospel; it is no longer "the glorious gospel of the blessed God," which is "the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.” As well may we look for that mechanical system, combining the nicest adjustment of part to part, constructed and arranged with a view to a given result, to reach such result when the mainspring is either wanting, or its force in some way destroyed. If the vital organ in the organized body become diseased, or its action obstructed or suspended, paralysis will follow.

That the atonement is invested with mystery, is a complaint we sometimes hear even from cultivated, intelligent, and pious minds. That in connection with it there is a profoundness, vast and unfathomable, cannot be denied. But are not the same things predicable of every work and every attribute of the infinite and eternal Mind? In itself considered, we see no more reason for doubt or difficulty with regard to the atonement than there is with regard to the divine omniscience, or any other perfection of the divine nature revealed in the Scriptures, with equal clearness. The atonement is eminently a doctrine of divine revelation; and, apart from its benevolent design in making known its provisions, that man may enjoy its eternal benefits, the sufficient object of divine revelation would be left highly problematical. Viewed as expressly including this, revelation, with all it compre

hends, stands forth as the sublimest expression of divine wisdom and benevolence.

The atonement may be contemplated in two regards. One, a view purely experimental and practical; the other, a view which may be called critical, philosophical, or metaphysical. In the former regard, which is that of simple substitution, it meets us as the ground of our hope, challenging our faith, in almost every page of the sacred volume. And if the truly awakened, unsophisticated, honest-hearted penitent seize upon the glorious truth that Jesus Christ "tasted death for every man"-resting alone here for pardon, holiness, and heaven-we see no reason why this elementary view of the atonement will not be sufficient for his salvation. In the latter regard, a wide range is taken; inquiry is instituted into its necessity, nature, extent, and the benefits derived from it. Its relations to the system of God's moral government are subjected to the rigid scrutiny of reason: nor has the doctrine always escaped injury from such an attempted analysis. This will inevitably be the case whenever reason, and not the declarations of the Bible, are made the criterion of judgment. A man can reason only about what he knows; all his knowledge of the atonement is derived from revelation; to its umpirage, therefore, all questions must be referred. In every step, then, let the inquirer not only act under a conscious deference to what the Holy Ghost teacheth, but bow unqualified submission to those inspired. teachings, not mistaking the feeble flickerings of his own dim reason for the clear, steady, brilliant splendors emanating from the page of divine inspiration.

When an author devotes an entire treatise to the consideration of one subject, and especially when it has occupied his thoughts for some twenty years, and the treatise then comes to you "revised, rewritten, enlarged, and improved," he gives you the assurance that purchase and perusal will be richly compensated. Under these circumstances, the work under consideration makes its appearance. And as if to secure it a more favorable reception, and a wider circulation, it makes its appearance under the auspices of an introductory chapter by Dr. Cox. Of this chapter we will only say in this place, that our expectations were not fully realized. Adding little to the argument of the author, it abounds with epithets; and the style is in the writer's peculiar manner, following no model with which we are acquainted. Toward that class of opponents to the doctrines advanced called "restrictionists," his bearing is not a little severe. The views advanced by Dr. Cox will be considered in another connection.