foresight in relation to the affairs of our own country, his writings are a chart of the progress of those changes that subsequently occurred on the continent of Europe. Deeply read in history, which furnishes the best clew to the intricate mazes of the human heart, and is itself philosophy teaching by example the consequences attendant on the operation of certain principles and measures, he was extensively and profoundly observant of the present, and had learned to foretel the future from the past. The principal fault in the writings of Mr. Ames is itself an evidence of the richness and extent of his intellectual resources. It is a superabundance of metaphor, an excess of imagery, which sometimes diverts the attention from substance to ornament, and thereby weakens the effect of the sentiment which it adorns. In this respect, although he excites our admiration, and even moves our wonder, he holds out an example which sound criticism forbids us to imitate. Had he lived to revise his writings during hours of leisure, when the glow of original composition had subsided, he would have pruned them of this cumbersome load of ornament. In such an event, but little would have been wanting to render them perfect. They would have borne a proud comparison with the best writings which Europe has produced. In private and domestic life, Mr. Ames was peculiarly amiable. His temper was mild, his heart benevolent, his disposition open and generous, and his affections warm. Participating of the frailties incident to our nature, he was not perfect. His faults, however, were so few and inconsiderable, so lost in the lustre of his excellencies and virtues, that, without being chargeable with a spirit of partiality, we may be suffered to commit them unrevealed to the same shrine that encloses his ashes. He preserved throughout every station which it was his fortune to fill, and every scene in which he bore a part, a reputation of the highest moral standard-unsullied and unsuspected. His death, which occurred in the fifty-first year of his age, bore testimony to the conscious purity and rectitude of his life. It celebrated his praises in a style of panegyric which the language of the eulogist would emulate in vain. He was sustained and comforted, in his last moments, by those cheering hopes and beatific expectations which constitute the rich inheritance of the Christian. C. FOREIGN LITERATURE. FOR THE PORT FOLIO. The works of Ponce Denis Lebrun, arranged and published by P. L. Guingené, with some notice of the life and writings of the author prefixed. 4 vols. 8vo. Paris. To an editor, the world is at length indebted for the appearance of these volumes, which have been so long and so anxiously expected, but which, in spite of the author's repeated promises, for the last twenty years, would never have seen the light, had he lived to the age of a patriarch. Let the lovers of literature rejoice, for it is to them a moment of high gratification. Lebrun was born a poet; and, if we dared venture to assert that a writer has existed, in our own times, more gifted with inspiration than M. Delisle, we would, assuredly, award the laurel to the author of the odes, which compose the initial volume of this collection. Delisle, no doubt, has more art; his versification is more laboured and correct, and he knows how to marshal his phraselogy inimitably well; a vivid imagination, and a brilliant colouring, glow through all his productions; his talents, in short, resemble, as it were, the girdle of Venus, which he seems to have borrowed-but who, at the same time, can deny, that Lebrun received from heaven an incomparably larger portion of that fervid, inborn flame—that vivida vis animi, which constitutes the soul of genuine poesy? The former has established a style and a school; hundreds of juvenile rhymsters, without possessing a particle of his admirable powers, conceive that they are able to imitate all those happy touches of his, and to dive into all the resources of his genius. But who can pretend to copy after Lebrun? Inspiration cannot counterfeit itself, and that intuitive brilliancy which points out and illumines a path to the lofty minded bard, expires with its possessor. To those extraordinary powers with which nature had gifted our poet, was added an intimate acquaintance with the great writers of antiquity. Like the authors of the age of Louis XIV, he made them his guides through the devious intricacies of Parnassus, and from this source he acquired that commanding hardihood of manner, which is the prominent characteristic of Lebrun's style. His reading, we are assured, was remarkably ex tensive and judicious; and that he always read with profit is evidenced by the numerous marginal notes which crowd his books. At the latest period of his life too, Lebrun was still a student; he studied, he digested every thing thoroughly before he wrote, and however paradoxical it may appear in this scribbling age to write-In the present day, indeed, it would seem that the pens of our writers are guided by inspiration alone, scorning the aid of study and of previous instruction. God only knows what will be the result of this inversion of the order of things, but so far as an observation extends, these poetasters will themselves, ere long, lament the change. Independently of that total want of genius and talent, which excites the disgust and contempt of every person of taste, the gross ignorance which most of them labour under, must certainly prove an insuperable bar to their enjoying the smallest success; the circulation of their rhyming bagatelles is daily narrowing; and they will sooner or later find that a poet's only security for reputation or profit consists in a diligent study of those great models which antiquity has bequeathed to us. Lebrun was much indebted, in the early part of his life, to the friendship of Mr. Louis Racine, son of the immortal bard of that name, and a poet himself. It was he who guided his unpractised steps in the arduous career he had entered, who encouraged him with praise, and communicated, no doubt, those valuable and curious traditions, of which he alone was the depositary. This Louis Racine had a son, who was the intimate friend of Lebrun; three beautiful odes, which rank the author very high among lyric poets, are the fruit which the world has derived from this connexion. These, however, were only the dictates of friendship; but love, all-powerful love, soon inspired the youthful poet's bosom with sentiments of a warmer and more vehement complexion. Fanny, the heroine of his soft tale, soon became his wife, and three swift years scarce witnessed a diminution of his bliss. What, in fact, was wanting to his good fortune? The estate he possessed was comfortable, and though moderate, amply sufficed for the gratification of every wish; for at this period, let it be observed, a man of letters did not consider it impossible to exist satisfactorily without a rent-roll of twenty thousand livres per annum. To these materials of happiness was added a wife, young and pretty, fond of her husband, and capable too of appreciating his merit, since, according to the editor, "she composed equally well in prose and verse." But this honeymoon was soon clouded; in 1774, the adorable angel, whose countenance was the breath or which he existed, to whom he had so often whispered, Mets ton cœur sur mon cœur, ta bouche sur ma bouche; the tender, amiable Fanny abandoned him, applied for a divorce, and succeeded. We may conceive that the poet's tone was now changed. In his rage he compares his wife to the vile daughters of Danaus, who bathed their murderous hands in their husbands' gore. The petty accidents and misfortunes, however, which rouse and depress the passions of that little animal, man, when viewed in another, serve only, like those of the buskined hero, to vary the amusement of the spectator; to the marriage of Lebrun we are indebted for passionate eulogiums; his rage supplies us with frenzied imprecations. It was about the same period also that the prince of Conti, to whom he was secretary, died: his hopes, from this quarter, were extinguished by a paltry pension of a thousand francs, very ill paid. And to cap the climax of his misfortune, the prince of Guémenée, in whose schemes he had invested the whole of his capital, became bankrupt. But the spirit of Lebrun was not be depressed by such accidents as these, and his vengance was only that of a poet. He did not forget to sting the princely banker with such epigrams as Quand le beau prince, escroc sérénissime, etc. And again: D'un petit gentillâtre ou d'un banquier trés-mince Mais de trente-six! aucun d'eux Ne l'oserait: c'est faillite de prince. The satisfaction of snarling a few sarcastic epigrams, was the only equivalent that Lebrun received for twenty thousand francs. It is observed by the editor, M. Guingené, that at this epoch the poet composed his finest odes-is misfortune then the spur of genius? Certain it is, that opulence too often benumbs it. How many ardent, aspiring souls, whose youth afforded the most flattering promise, have sunk into oblivion and a fortune, or resigned Parnassus for a counting house! Poets should always be hungry and necessitous-Enriched they become lazy and indolent, or else present the world with the verses of a fine gentleman, or a wealthy 'don,, from both of which, God in his mercy preserve us. It was when treading the regions of misery and misfortune, that Lebrun addressed his two odes to Buffon; one on occasion of the dangerous illness from which that illustrious philosopher had just emerged, the other on his calumniators: They were both severely handled in the Mercury, by La Harpe, as the ode of Voltaire had been, in the Année Literaire, by Freron. To this piece of criticism, we are indebted for some hundred epigrams and a few epistles, to which the author has modestly declined giving the title of satires. If the bickerings of men of letters, always produced results such as these, we would willingly consent to banish every lover of peace and concord from the poetical fraternity. But the prospects of Lebrun soon began to brighten, and misfortune, weary of persecution, left him, at length, to the guidance of his better genius. He became an object of favour at court, and, by the solicitation of M. Calonne, obtained a pension of two thousand francs. It was then that our poet, in a very beautiful discourse, composed on occasion of the assembly of notables, sang the praises of Louis XVI and his minister. The storm of the revolution was at this moment gathering, and soon burst forth. Lebrun became a zealous republican. Who does not remember those famous lines: L'insecte usurpateur, etc.? The editor informs us, that for upwards of thirty years Lebrun professed those principles which the revolution consecrated. God forbid that we should play the part of accusers, but it would, in our opinion, have been more manly, if the poet had either refused the favours of this insecte usurpateur, or if he did receive them, to have restrained such indecent exulation at his benefactor's fall. It is a very fine thing, no doubt, to be a great poet; but gratitude is certainly no derogation from his merit. |