which might yet be theirs, if ever lived the Bard, the touch of whose lyre could infuse into the soul a magnanimous contempt of death, and create an unconquerable resolve to combat every difficulty which might lie between the cherished object of patriotic ambition, and the mind in which that ambition was brooding, that Poet was Thomas Davis! This peculiarity was materially strengthened by the great know. ledge which Davis had acquired of the traditions, great historical events, and all the other interesting particulars of his country, which evinced an herculean amount of research, and a memory curiously tenacious.

Davis is not generally given to the melting strain, but his love songs fall as softly on the ear, as the summer rain on the flowers. He can rage with the tempest, and murmur as sweet and delicious as the breeze of evening. Nor do we consider that Davis is a Poet whose writings are to be cherished only in Ireland it is true he has inade Ireland the theme of his every poetical effort, and has written like one who deeply felt, and was too proud to conceal the depth of his feelings on the wrongs of his country; indeed in this respect he much more resembles the magnanimous patriots of Greece and Rome, than their less heroic brethern of modern times: but with the gall which he has infused into his thoughts, there mingles a current of the milk of human kindness, a world wide generosity, a benevolent longing for universal happiness which claim brotherhood with the sympathies, the hopes, and the ideas of the whole family of man, and must elicit the meed of no qualified admiration, even from the readers of the sister country. Notwithstanding the short time that Davis devoted himself to poetry, he has done much for his countrymen: he has created a National Poetry, one of the proudest boasts which a Poet can have; whose future effects are incalculable, and may prove the regeneration of Ireland; for it is not unreasonable to suppose, that what has produced National greatness in other countries may be attended with the same results in one which certainly, as much, and possibly more than any other, is actuated by impulses of an intellectual, though an ardently intellectual kind. It seems to us that a few examples of the different phases of Davis's poetical genius, would (to those unacquainted with his poetry) afford the best means of understanding his peculiarities. We shall therefore commence the execution of that design by presenting the reader with

some of his patriotic pieces. The soul of Davis glowed perpetually with the ardent fire of love, for nature as well as man. It was not with the eye of empty admiration that he was wont to gaze upon the scenic beauties of Ireland, or even with that impulsive passion for the sublime or beautiful, which, notwithstanding the intensity of its momentary rapture, leaves no solid or durable impression upon the mind, but rather with an earnest, quiet, though inextinguishable feeling of pure love, which delighted in pondering long and deeply on the objects of its dear solicitude and inspiration, and in singing in heartful strains the magnificence of their glory. His delight at beholding some surpassing landscape, was not that of the artist, whose bosom thrills at the opportunity he possesses of rendering his canvass immortal, or of bestowing undying light on the touches of his pencil; but, on the contrary, it resembled rather, the strong domestic love of the child for its mother, who loves its parent for her own sake, and thoroughly irrespective of all extraneous considerations: the pure love of the Patriot to whom the suggestive sublimity of his immemorial hills, has become "a feeling and a passion," who is united to them by every tie which binds him both to God and Man, and who experiences an unspeakable pride in demonstrating to the world, the everlasting nature of the bonds which constitute between them the happy association. For the verification of this, there is hardly one of Davis's poems which does not afford sufficient proofs, and there are few who will not be ready to give their acquiescence in its active appearance in these stanzas

Davis belonged to that cheerful school of Philosophy, who have taken self reliance as their motto, and whose doctrines inculcate unbending fortitude in all the eventualities of life,

and indomitable perseverance, and untiring labour in the pur-
suit of the objects contemplated.
Like his Transatlantic
Brother he believed that,

"Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul."

Noble principle! pregnant with heaven-born wisdom, which never can be sufficiently appreciated, or too frequently adopted. The Poet who promulgates such a creed, is not only a Poet in the general sense of the word, he is a Philosopher and a sage, as much so in a particular respect, as Socrates, Plato, Pericles, or Bacon, incalculably benefiting his generation, and carrying into effect the inscrutable designs of Providence. There is a perfect system of philosophy in the following

Though some of Davis's ballads may not exactly please the English reader, on account of the rather rough manner in which allusion is made to our neighbours in the Sister Country, still it is impossible for any one to feel insensible to their magnificent merits as compositions, and as inspiriting lays well adapted to beget enthusiasm in the hearts of the most callous. The volume before us so abounds in such lyric gems, that the most fastidious amateur in this branch of poetry could not complain, were we induced to lay before him instead of one example which we cite, a dozen more illustrations from the rich treasury of the Author. These ballads are formed of those imperishable materials, which never can be obliterated from the mind, while a spark of national feeling remains within the breast of an Irishman; the subjects taken from those prominent incidents in our country's history, which rivet the attention with so much unaccountable power, the frequent

impulsive reference to the heroic exploits of our fathers which goad us like a spur, to emulate their glory; the fire of the language, the rapid bounding metre, resounding like thunder leaping over the hills, all the accessaries which the Poet has used in the formation of these spirited pieces are equally faultless and superb, and there never was a more happy exemplification of the wisdom of him who said, "give to me the construction of the ballads of the people, and I will leave to others the making of their laws," than in the aptitude of these noble effusions, to the end for which they were intended. Many, indeed almost all the ballads of this description which the volume before us contains, have been set to music, and many of our readers are conversant with them. However, we feel it impossible to refrain from calling attention here to Clare's Dragoons, which even if it has been read and sung repeatedly for the reader's advantage, can well afford to bear additional inspection, and to command renewed admiration.

f

Next in merit, if not equal in that respect, the Love Songs of Davis are worthy of note; and so great has been bis success (according to our estimation) in pourtraying the genuine charac ter of his countrymen as evinced in love-making, that even at the risk of being deemed hyperbolical, we do not hesitate to pronounce his superiority in this respect over everything we have seen from the pen of Moore, who seems to have earned the title of "The Bard of Love." In good plain truth no Irish Poet has ever indicated greater proficiency in this particular, and it is only in the simple songs of the country. people in the West, or South of Ireland, that any similarity to Davis's ditties can be discerned, always excepting Griffin, of whom more hereafter. That gentle entreaty, faithful, quaint, and picturesque expression, and overflowing assurance of deep, undying passion which so strongly characterizes the coorting of the Irish peasant, have all found a sweet full echo in the verse of Davis, and are softly bodied forth, with all the additional attractions of harmony, and graceful language. The Author unites within himself the combined qualities of Pindar, Sappho, and Alcaeus, and engrafts the luxuriant fancy of the Persian Poets, on the wild vigor of the Scandinavian Scald. The following is a pretty tolerable specimen of his Ballad style.

THE GIRL OF DUNBWY.

I.

Tis pretty to see the girl of Dunbwy
Stepping the mountain statelily-

Though ragged her gown, and naked her feet,
No lady in Ireland to match her is meet.

II.

Poor is her diet, and hardly she lies

Yet a monarch might kneel for a glance of her eyes;
The child of a peasant-yet England's proud Queen
Has less rank in her heart, and less grace in her mien

III.

Her brow 'neath her raven hair gleams, just as if

A breaker spread white 'neath a shadowy cliff

And love, and devotion, and energy speak

From her beauty-proud eye, and her passion-pale cheek.

IV.

But, pale as her cheek is, there's fruit on her lip,

And her teeth flash as white as the crescent moon's tip.
And her form and her step, like the reed-deer's, go past-
As lightsome, as lovely, as haughty, as fast.

V.

I saw her but once, and I looked in her eye,

And she knew that I worshipped in passing her by;
The saint of the wayside-she granted my prayer,
Though we spoke not a word, for her mother was there.

VI.

I never can think upon Bantry's bright hills,
But her image starts up, and my longing eye fills;
And I whisper her softly, "again, love, we'll meet,
And I'll lie in your bosom, and live at your feet."