But this is a trifling remark, and hardly deserving of even the little space we have given to it. It is more worthy of observation, that Mrs Hemans, a reader and admirer of German poetry, contrived to draw a deep inspiration from this noble literature, without any disturbance to her principles of taste. A careful perusal of her works, by one acquainted with the lyrical poetry of Germany, will prove how well and how wisely she had studied that poetry--drawing from it just that deeper spirit of reflection which would harmonise with her own mind, without being tempted to imitate what, either in thought or in manner, would have been foreign to her nature. We fancy we trace something of this Teutonic inspiration in the poem, amongst others, that follows:-- THE SILENT MULTITUDE. A mighty and a mingled throng Were gathered in one spot; The dweller, of a thousand homes-- Yet midst them voice was not. The soldier and his chief were there-- The mother and her child: The friends, the sisters of one hearth-- None spoke--none moved--none smiled. There lovers met, between whose lives Years had swept darkly by; After that heart-sick hope deferred, They met--but silently. You might have heard the rustling leaf, The breeze's faintest sound, The shiver of an insect's wing, On that thick-peopled ground. Your voice to whispers would have died For the deep quiet's sake; Your tread the softest moss have sought, Such stillness not to break. What held the countless multitude Bound in that spell of peace? How could the ever-sounding life Amid so many cease? Was it some pageant of the air, Some glory high above, That linked and hushed those human souls In reverential love? Or did some burdening passion's weight Hang on their indrawn breath? Awe--the pale awe that freezes words? Fear--the strong fear of death? A mightier thing--Death, Death himself, Lay on each lonely heart! Kindred were there--yet hermits all, Thousands--but each apart.