n solitude,
The faded fancies of an elder world;
But leave these scarlet cups to spotted moths
Of June, and glistening flies, and hummingbirds,
To drink from, when on all these boundless lawns
The morning sun looks hot. Or let the wind
O'erturn in sport their ruddy brims, and pour
A sudden shower upon the strawberry-plant,
To swell the reddening fruit that even now
Breathes a slight fragrance from the sunny slope.

"But thou art of a gayer fancy. Well,
Let, then, the gentle Manitou of flowers,
Lingering amid the bloomy waste he loves,
Though all his swarthy worshippers are gone,
Slender and small, his rounded cheek all brown
And ruddy with the sunshine,--let him come
On summer mornings, when the blossoms wake,
And part with little hands the spiky grass,
And, touching with his cherry lips the edge
Of these bright beakers, drain the gathered dew."

What a lovely picture is this of the Manitou of flowers, and what a
subject for an artist to embody in forms and colors! The whole passage
is very beautiful, and its beauty is in part derived from its truth. It
meets the requisitions of the philosophical understanding, as well as of
the shaping and aggregating fancy. The poetry is manly, masculine, and
simple. The ornaments are of pure gold, such as will bear the test of
open daylight.

It is the function of the critic to discriminate and divide, and we have
attempted to deal thus with the poems of Bryant; but some of the best of
his productions cannot be classified and arranged under any particular
head. They breathe the spirit of universal humanity, and speak a
language intelligible to every human heart. Among these are "The Evening
Wind," "The Conqueror's Grave," and "The Future Life." All of these are
exquisite alike in conception and execution. We suppose that most
persons have in regard to poetry certain fancies, whims, preferences,
founded on reasons too delicate to be revealed or too airy to be
expressed. As Mrs. Battles in a moment of confidence confessed to "Elia"
that hearts was her favorite suit, so we breathe in the ear of the
public an acknowledgment, that, of all Bryant's poems, "The Future Life"
is that which we read the most frequently, and with the deepest feeling.
We say read, but we have known it by heart for years. We will not affirm
that it is the best of his poems, but it is that which moves us most,
and which we feel most grateful to him for having written. T