In the hymns to the Hindu deities, the imagery, which is derived chiefly from Eastern sources, is novel and attractive. That addressed to Narayena is in a strain of singular magnificence. The description, in the fourth stanza, of the creative power or intelligence, issuing from the primal germ of being, and questioning itself as to its own faculties, has something in it that fills the mind with wonder. What four-form'd godhead came, With graceful stole and beamy diadem, Forth from thy verdant stem? Full-gifted Brahma! Rapt in solemn thought He stood, and round his eyes fire-darting threw But whilst his viewless origin he sought, One plain he saw of living waters blue, Their spring nor saw nor knew. Then in his parent stalk again retired, With restless pain for ages he inquired What were his powers, by whom, and why, conferr'd, With doubts perplex'd, with keen impatience fired, He rose, and rising heard Th' unknown, all-knowing word, Brahma! no more in vain research persist. My veil thou canst not move.--Go, bid all worlds exist. To the hymns he subjoins the first Nemean ode of Pindar, "not only," he says, "in the same measure as nearly as possible, but almost word for word with the original; those epithets and phrases only being necessarily added which are printed in Italic letters." Whoever will be at the trouble of comparing him with Pindar, will see how far he is from fulfilling this promise. Of the Palace of Fortune, an Indian tale, the conclusion is unexpected and affecting. The Persian song from Hafez, is one of those pieces that, by a nameless charm, fasten themselves on the memory. In the Caissa, or poem on Chess, he is not minute enough to gratify a lover of the game, and too particular to please one who reads it for the poetry. The former will prefer the Scacchia Ludus of Vida, of which it is a professed imitation; and the latter will be satisfied with the few spirited lines which the Abbe de Lille has introduced into his L'Homme des Champs, on this subject. Vida's poem is a surprising instance of difficulty overcome, in the manner with which he has moulded the phraseology of the classics to a purpose apparently alien from it; and he has made his mythology agreeable, trivial as it is, by the skill with which it is managed. But I find that both the Caissa, and the Arcadia, which is taken from a paper in the Guardian, were done, as the author says, at the age of 16 or 17 years, and were saved from the fire in preference to a great many others, because they seemed more correctly versified than the rest. It is, therefore, hardly fair to judge them very strictly.