n the joys of its own existence, feeling the sap
stir in its veins, and pour through a heart as susceptible as man's.
Many poets have recalled the memories which linger around a particular
tree, or, apostrophising it, have bid it relate certain histories; but
in Mr. Taylor's poem the tree speaks from within its own nature--not
with the feelings of a man, not with what we might suppose would be the
feelings of a common tree, but as a pine of many centuries--and no one
can mistake its voice. A nobler use of the dramatic faculty, in lyrical
poetry, is not within our recollection.

As may be supposed, Mr. Taylor's poetry is written under the excitement
of passion, and does not proceed from that laborious process of
constructing effects, to which a large number of poets owe their
success. The consequence is that his language is vividly metaphorical,
only dealing in similes when in a comparative repose, and never going
out of the way to hunt up one of those eternal _likes_, which have
emasculated our poetic style, and are fast becoming a leading
characteristic in American verse, to the utter destruction of every
thing like real passion. Mr. Taylor is an instructive study in this
respect. He uses ten metaphors to one simile. His ideas come forth
clothed in their figurative language, and do not bring it along neatly
tied up in a separate bundle. From this cause there is a sturdy strength
and genuine feeling about his poems, that more than compensate for the
ingenious trinkets which he despises, and leaves for the adornment of
those who need them. In him imagination predominates over fancy, and the
latter is always sacrificed to the former. We do not intend to say that
Mr. Taylor is without fancy. Far from it--he has fancy, but it never
leads him to be fanciful. His versification is polished, correct and
various, but more harmonious than melodious; that is to say, the whole
rhythmical flow of his verse is more striking than the sweetness of
particular lines. We have not mentioned all the phases of Mr. Taylor's
genius. Some of the smaller poems in his volume border on the sensuous;
and in "Hylas" he has paid a tribute to ancient fable worthy of its
refined inventors; but scenes of moral and natural sublimity are those
in which he succeeds best, and by them he should be characterized.

[Illustration: RICHARD H. STODDARD.]

Mr. Stoddard is the precise opposite to his friend. In him the sensual
vastly outranks the moral or the int