attribute which distinguishes him from other men. "Cowley" is well characterized. "Burns" ought to have been better. "Byron" pleases us. "Coleridge" has very considerable merit. As a contrast to the preceding sketches of the true poets, (many of which, however, we have omitted, and we may also remark, in parenthesis, that none of our living poets are meddled with,) we now pass before the eyes of the reader a panorama of _pretenders_. We shall make no remarks on the expression of their features, leaving Miss Barrett to brand them as they deserve with her just scorn and indignation-- "One dull'd his eyeballs as they ached, With Homer's forehead--though he lack'd An inch of any! And one rack'd "His lower lip with restless tooth-- As Pindar's rushing words forsooth Were pent behind it. One, his smooth "Pink cheeks, did rumple passionate, Like AEschylus--and tried to prate On trolling tongue, of fate and fate! "One set her eyes like Sappho's--or Any light woman's! one forbore Like Dante, or any man as poor "In mirth, to let a smile undo His hard shut lips. And one, that drew Sour humours from his mother, blew "His sunken cheeks out to the size Of most unnatural jollities, Because Anacreon looked jest-wise. "So with the rest.--It was a sight For great world-laughter, as it might For great world-wrath, with equal right. "Out came a speaker from that crowd, To speak for all--in sleek and proud Exordial periods, while he bow'd "His knee before the angel.--'Thus, O angel! who hast call'd for us, We bring thee service emulous,-- "'Fit service from sufficient soul-- Hand-service, to receive world's dole-- Lip-service, in world's ear to roll "'Adjusted concords--soft enow To hear the winecups passing through, And not too grave to spoil the show. "'Thou, certes, when thou askest more, O sapient angel! leanest o'er The window-sill of metaphor. "'To give our hearts up! fie!--That rage Barbaric, antedates the age! It is not done on any stage. "'Because your scald or gleeman went With seven or nine-string'd instrument Upon his back--must ours be bent? "'We are not pilgrims, by your leave, No, nor yet martyrs! if we grieve, It is to rhyme to ... summer eve. "'And if we labour, it shall be As suiteth best with our degree, In after-dinner reverie.' "More yet that speaker would have said-- Poising between his smiles fair-fed, Each separate phrase till finished: "But all the foreheads of those born And dead true poets flash'd with scorn Betwixt the bay leaves round them worn-- "Ay, jetted such brave fire, that they, The new-come, shrank and paled away, Like leaden ashes when the day "Strikes on the hearth! A spirit-blast, A presence known by power, at last Took them up mutely--they had pass'd!"