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and their language are brought out and exposed to light, or remain covered with darkness.

There is nothing in the Samaritan hymns, which absolutely determines their age. The probability is, that they were composed as early as the eighth or ninth century.

We give an extract from Gesenius' Latin translation of the first hymn, that our readers may see the kind of composition and sentiment which these Samaritan relics exhibit.

Non est Deus nisi unus.

Creator mundi,

Quis estimabit magnitudinem tuam ?

Fecisti eum magnifice,

Intra sex dies.

In lege tuâ magna et vera

Legimus sapimusque.

In quovis illorum dierum
Magnificâsti creaturas.

Magnificatæ sapientiâ tuâ

Nunciant excellentiam tuam,

Revelantque divinum tuum imperium
Non esse, nisi ad magnificandum te.

Creâsti sine defatigatione

Opera tua excelsa;

Adduxisti ea e nihil

Intra sex dies.

Creâsti ea perfecta,

Non est in unico eorum defectus,

Conspiciendam præbuisti perfectionem eorum,
Quia tu es dominus perfectionis.

Et quievisti citra defatigationem
Die septimo,

Et fecisti eum coronam

Sex diebus.

Vocâsti eum sanctum

Eumque fecisti caput

Tempus omni conventui [sacro],

Principem omnis sanctitatis.

Fecisti eum fœdus

Te inter et cultores tuos,

Docuisti custodiam ejus
Custodire custodientes eum.

Felices qui sabbatum celebrant,
Quique digni sunt benedictione ejus;
Umbra ejus sancta eos respirare facit,
Ab omni labore et defatigatione, &c.

The Anecdota Orientalia is very handsomely printed, on good paper, and with that almost unparalleled accuracy, which Gesenius generally exhibits, in all the works corrected by his own hand.

We are encouraged to hope that other oriental specimens of a similar nature will follow. The next number is to exhibit the Book of Enoch, in the Ethiopian language; which Gesenius believes to be the same book as that from which Jude, in his epistle, and all the early Christian Fathers, quoted. Whether this be the fact or not, we shall welcome the publication of the book; or of any other book, from which the language, the sentiment, or the literature of the Scriptures, can receive illustration.

ART. III.-Poem delivered before the Connecticut Alpha of the Phi Beta Kappa Society, September 13, 1825. By JAMES G. PERCIVAL. 8vo. pp. 40. Boston. Richardson and Lord. Ir is a rare thing for a poet of Mr Percival's genius and reputation to appear at the anniversary of one of our literary associations. It is equally rare to adopt blank verse in a poem designed for recitation, and to extend it to the length of eleven hundred lines. Genius and fame stand an unequal match against these unfavorable circumstances. Few hearers could listen without fatigue to any composition of so great length. Still less when there must be the constant struggle, ever disappointed and ever renewed, to trace the structure of the verse.

But however ill adapted it may be for recitation, no such disadvantages attend it as offered from the press. We receive it as a poem to be read, and we read it without regarding its fitness to be spoken. It comes to the public with that recommendation from the author's name, which ensures it a candid perusal. The character of the subject and the occasion render it an object of more than ordinary notice; while the reputation of its fertile author, and the peculiarities of his beautiful but wayward VOL. XXII.NO. 51.

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pen, demand that it should receive an impartial examination from those, who are solicitous about the popular poetry of our

country.

The first thing which strikes us on reading this poem is, that the author has entered on too wide a field. He sets out upon the vast and boundless theme of Mind and its mysterious energies; and in attempting at the commencement to state his purpose and point out his track, he plainly discovers that he has not surveyed it definitely with his own eyes, and really has no very distinct object in view. He seems to lay before us a plan; but as we look at it, we find that 'shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.' This want of a definite purpose embarrasses the performance. The reader would suppose the object of the writer to be a description of that imaginative power of the mind, which is exercised in the creations of the fine arts, painting, sculpture, and especially poetry, and which conjures up scenes and forms of sublimity and beauty in reverie and sleep. This indicates, however, very inaccurately the course of the argument, and by no means serves as a guide through it. The poet himself is the first to lose his way.

The first part is philosophy, the second is example. The philosophy we are not sure that we understand, and what we do understand we do not always agree to. It is however very poetical, if not very true; and we will endeavor, to the best of our abilities, to give a prose interpretation for the benefit of our readers.

There are, says our author (beginning with one of the dogmas of the old philosophers), diffused through nature, certain Forms, unchangeable and everlasting, by which the mind is forever controlled and swayed; that is, if we rightly conceive the meaning, there are certain eternal principles of taste, to which the mind necessarily assents, to which it has in all ages owned allegiance, and to which the passions and desires have bent, as unto their lodestar.' Nothing can please, which is not conformable to these eternal principles.

The nicest work

Of Art, without the impress of these forms,
Can fix no wandering glance-no linked sounds
Of most elaborate music, if they flow not,
With ready lapse, from this perpetual fount
Of all blest harmony, can soothe his ear
Even to a moment's listening.'

These Forms, he teaches us, are identical with Truth; except, indeed, that while Truth requires for its discovery laborious research and study, these gain assent spontaneously and at once; they are perceived and acknowledged by a sort of intuition, 't is but to look, and all is felt and known; or, as it is again expressed, more ambitiously, but with less propriety,

these, which are

Lords of the Heart, as she is of the Mind

In its pure reason-these at once approach,

And with their outstretched pennons overshadow
The willing soul.'

We are by no means convinced, that there is this instantaneous consent to the true principles of taste. This distinction between them and other truth is in our view fanciful and baseless; and if it were of any consequence to the rest of the poem, that the question should be settled, it might easily be shown, that the sublime and beautiful, both in nature and art, require time and cultivation in order to their being duly appreciated, no less than the truths of mathematical and metaphysical science. The rude peasant lives and dies without any sensibility to the grandeur of the evening sky, and the savage exhibits no emotion as he gazes on the falls of Niagara. It is the mind which has been prepared by education, that understands and feels their greatness. So it is in the finest works of art. The barbarous nations felt no admiration for the beautiful works of Rome; the Turks express none for those that lie in ruins at Athens, and the Cossacks would have looked with supreme indifference on the splendors of the Louvre. No one fully realizes the perfection of the Apollo Belvidere till he has studied it long, or has been accustomed to similar works. It is characteristic of the most perfect productions in poetry, that, instead of being fully admired at first, their excellencies open upon the mind gradually in repeated perusal, and some hidden beauties there are, which disclose themselves only to a long and familiar observation. Perhaps however the author means only, that the man of highest genius possesses this intuitive perception; which would be more nearly true and more to his purpose. If it be so, then there is truth as well as beauty in the following passage, in which he asserts that no exhibitions of art can fully reach the conceptions of genius.

'Much has been thrown
On living canvass-much been cast abroad
In words of loftiest import-much been framed
By plastic hands to shapes of awe and wonder;
But nothing ever bodied out the soul

In its most daring flight. The eagle soars not
Above the highest clouds; and when at sunset
The sky is full of fiery shapes, that lie

Filling the half of heaven, there are, that catch
The sun's last smile, too high for any wing
To fly to, but they are the loveliest
And brightest-so the visions of the soul
Are often higher than the boldest leap
Of Execution, who with vain attempt
Lags far behind the rapid lightning glance
Of quick Conception.'

And hence it has happened, he continues, that mighty bards have lived and enjoyed all the luxuries of poetical contemplation, and perchance framed nobler songs than have ever been sung,

' and yet never

Put forth one visible sign, to tell the world,
How much they felt and knew.'

For invention, whether in sculpture, poetry, or painting, does not lie in the actual specimens of art which are exhibited to the world; but in the secret operations of the mind, while it contemplates in its own chambers possible forms and existences, without perhaps knowing the names of those high arts,' by which they may be communicated to other men. And on the other hand, those, who have learned to express their conceptions in these visible representations, have created works, which, being conformed to the eternal forms of things, are still beautiful and admired, though obscured by the darkness of antiquity, and veiled in languages which for centuries have ceased to be spoken.

'Though a chosen few

Alone can read the ancient words, that seem
Like magic letters to the common eye;
Yet in the humble garb of common prose,
Or in the guise of more ambitious verse;
Bereft of all their sounding harmony,
Or hidden by a load of modern art,

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