he sense is born with the
poet, and few literary lives are fortunate enough, or of sufficiently
varied experience, to mature it.

Nevertheless, before closing the volume, we must quote what we consider
to be the author's best lyrical passage. Zaph, one of the attendants of
Malzah, the "evil spirit from the Lord," sings as follows to one of his
fellows:--

"Zepho, the sun's descended beam
Hath laid his rod on th' ocean stream,
And this o'erhanging wood-top nods
Like golden helms of drowsy gods.
Methinks that now I'll stretch for rest,
With eyelids sloping toward the west;
That, through their half transparencies,
The rosy radiance passed and strained,
Of mote and vapor duly drained,
I may believe, in hollow bliss,
My rest in the empyrean is.
Watch thou; and when up comes the moon,
Atowards her turn me; and then, boon,
Thyself compose, 'neath wavering leaves
That hang these branched, majestic eaves:
That so, with self-imposed deceit,
Both, in this halcyon retreat,
By trance possessed, imagine may
We couch in Heaven's night-argent ray."

In 1860 Mr. Heavysege published by subscription a drama entitled "Count
Filippo; or, the Unequal Marriage." This work, of which we have seen
but one critical notice, added nothing to his reputation. His genius, as
we have already remarked, is not dramatic; and there is, moreover,
internal evidence that "Count Philippo" did not grow, like "Saul," from
an idea which took forcible possession of the author's mind. The plot is
not original, the action languid, and the very names of the _dramatis
personae_ convey an impression of unreality. Though we know there never
was a Duke of Pereza in Italy, this annoys us less than that he should
bear such a fantastic name as "Tremohla"; nor does the feminine "Volina"
inspire us with much respect for the heroine. The characters are
intellectual abstractions, rather than creatures of flesh and blood; and
their love, sorrow, and remorse fail to stir our sympathies. They have
an incorrigible habit of speaking in conceits. As "Saul" is pervaded
with the spirit of the Elizabethan writers, so "Count Filippo" suggests
the artificial manner of the rivals of Dryden. It is the work of a poet,
but of a poet working from a mechanical impulse. There are very fine
single passages, but the general effect is marred by the constant
recurrence of such forced metaphors as these:--

"N