poems had only been instructed properly in metre by the modest reviewer,—but to write a poem equal to any of them. That there are faults in these compositions may be true. But we may as well remember also, that although a thousand nameless architects have written essays to show how the Leaning Tower of Pisa should have been built, it still continues to hold its reputation as one of the Seven Wonders of the world, and still continues to lean.
Pardon this digression, and let me return to the direct path.
“The Evening Twilight of the Heart,” an exquisite poem, was published in the Evening Post, in October, 1818. Bryant’s “Thanatopsis” preceded this poem two years.
These we may call the corner-stones of American Poetry, hewn from the native quarry.
But the first efforts of genius do not always invoke the dear delightful responses of applauding thousands. Those who toil in the republic of letters often waste the midnight sweat of the brow in vain; at least, many years elapse before they are recognised.
Bryant’s “Thanatopsis,” and Halleck’s “Twilight of the Heart,” fell dead upon the public ear; for poetic taste had as yet been little cultivated in our country, forty years ago.
It is true that Philip Freneau, that brave old son of New York! had written some admirable poems during the Revolutionary war, some lines of which Byron, Campbell, and Scott did not hesitate to appropriate.
