between the genius which contents itself with its own triumphs, in achieving an excellent work, and the ability which executes, in the best manner, a work the aim of which is loftier than that of commanding applause. It might not be easy to adduce single instances in which this important distinction obtrudes itself upon notice in a manner beyond dispute; nevertheless a comparison at large of the Hebrew literature, with the literature of other nations, would not fail to make its reality unquestionable.
So it is, as we shall see, that, although Palestine, such as then it was, abounded with aspects of nature that might well tempt description, and had many points of scenic effect, nothing of this sort is extant within the compass of the Scriptures. Why might not spots in Lebanon have been brought in picture before us?—why not the luxuriance of Cœlo-Syria, where the Jordan springs to light from an Eden of beauty?—why not the flowery plain of Esdraëlon?—why not the rugged majesty of the district bordering upon the Dead Sea? Alive to every form of natural beauty and sublimity, and quick to seize his images from among them, the Hebrew Poet never lingers in such scenes: he uses the wealth of the visible world for his purposes:—Nature he commands; but she commands not him.
It may be said that the earliest born of the poetic styles in every land has this same characteristic—namely, that of having a fixed purpose—an inten-
