TO CORRESPONDENTS.
“Charles K.” is a well written tale, and, as it is apparently founded upon facts, would undoubtedly interest those personally acquainted with the scenes which it describes; but, unless we misjudge, it would strike others differently.
“Evening Thoughts,” an article on William Wirt, and a “Sonnet,” are declined.
“The Seminole,” with some metrical alterations, may appear in our next.
“A Rhyming Mood,” is accepted.
The author of “Niobe,” and “Spring,” (we suppose them both from the same pen,) would do well to use the ‘file’ a little more freely, and also, read, at his leisure, a chapter or two of some treatise onPerspicuity.
“My Village Home,” “The Pleasures of Innocence,” and “The Future,” (which, from thepaperand chirography, we judge to be the productions of one and the same intellect,) might, perhaps, be creditable to the powers of an Infant School poet; but,Dii Immortales!can it be possible they have been perpetrated by any one of riper years? Take a specimen or two.
“But ah! where’s now their boyish pranksSince last I saw those sloping banks;Time’sstern mandate, bid to hardy toil,Some with Fame—the rest on Nature’s soil.”“Oh! ’tis that off distant hillBy the shady grove, all leafless—stillWhere I’d seek an humble placeTo lay low my care-worn face.”
“But ah! where’s now their boyish pranksSince last I saw those sloping banks;Time’sstern mandate, bid to hardy toil,Some with Fame—the rest on Nature’s soil.”“Oh! ’tis that off distant hillBy the shady grove, all leafless—stillWhere I’d seek an humble placeTo lay low my care-worn face.”
“But ah! where’s now their boyish pranksSince last I saw those sloping banks;Time’sstern mandate, bid to hardy toil,Some with Fame—the rest on Nature’s soil.”
“But ah! where’s now their boyish pranks
Since last I saw those sloping banks;
Time’sstern mandate, bid to hardy toil,
Some with Fame—the rest on Nature’s soil.”
“Oh! ’tis that off distant hillBy the shady grove, all leafless—stillWhere I’d seek an humble placeTo lay low my care-worn face.”
“Oh! ’tis that off distant hill
By the shady grove, all leafless—still
Where I’d seek an humble place
To lay low my care-worn face.”