And now, good-morrow to "the Muses' son of Promise;" as for "the feats he yet may do," as we do not pretend to say, like himself, "Muse of my native land am I inspired," we shall adhere to the safe old rule of _pauca verba_. We venture to make one small prophecy, that his bookseller will not a second time venture £50 upon any thing he can write. It is a better and a wiser thing to be a starved apothecary than a starved poet; so back to the shop Mr John, back to "plasters, pills, and ointment boxes," &c. But, for Heaven's sake, young Sangrado, be a little more sparing of extenuatives and soporifics in your practice than you have been in your poetry. Z. --_Blackwood's Magazine_. ALFRED LORD TENNYSON _Timbuctoo: a Poem, which obtained the Chancellor's Medal at the Cambridge Commencement_, _by A. Tennyson, of Trinity College, Cambridge._ We have accustomed ourselves to think, perhaps without any good reason, that poetry was likely to perish among us for a considerable period after the great generation of poets which is now passing away. The age seems determined to contradict us, and that in the most decided manner, for it has put forth poetry by a young man, and that where we should least expect it, namely, in a prize-poem. These productions have often been ingenious and elegant, but we have never before seen one of them which indicated really first-rate poetical genius, and which would have done honour to any man that ever wrote. Such, we do not hesitate to affirm, is the little work before us; and the examiners seem to have felt about it like ourselves, for they have assigned the prize to its author, though the measure in which he writes was never before (we believe) thus selected for honour. We extract a few lines to justify our admiration. [Quotes fifty lines beginning:-- "A curve of whitening, flashing, ebbing light! A rustling of white wings! the bright descent," etc.] How many men have lived for a century who could equal this?--_The Athenæum_. _Poems by Alfred Tennyson_. pp. 163. London. 12mo. 1833.