Sleep, sleep! be thine the sleep that throws Elysium o'er the soul's repose, Without a dream, save such as wind Like midnight angels, through the mind; While I am watching on the hill I, and the wailing whippoorwill. Oh whippoorwill, oh whippoorwill! Sleep, sleep! and once again I'll tell The oft pronounced yet vain farewell: Such should his word, oh maiden, be Who lifts the fated eye to thee; Such should it be, before the chain That wraps his spirit, binds his brain. Oh whippoorwill, oh whippoorwill! Sleep, sleep! the ship hath left the shore, The steed awaits his lord no more; His lord still madly lingers by, The fatal maid he cannot fly-- And thrids the wood, and climbs the hill-- He and the wailing whippoorwill. Oh whippoorwill, oh whippoorwill! Sleep, sleep! the morrow hastens on; Then shall the wailing slave be gone, Flitting the hill-top far for fear The sounds of joy may reach his ear; The sounds of joy!--the hollow knell Pealed from the mocking chapel bell. Oh whippoorwill, oh whippoorwill! In conclusion: The Hawks of Hawk-Hollow, if it add a single bay to the already green wreath of Dr. Bird's _popular_ reputation, will not, at all events, among men whose decisions are entitled to consideration, advance the high opinion previously entertained of his abilities. It has no pretensions to _originality_ of manner, or of style--for we insist upon the distinction--and very few to originality of matter. It is, in many respects, a bad imitation of Sir Walter Scott. Some of its characters, and one or two of its incidents, have seldom been surpassed, for force, fidelity to nature, and power of exciting interest in the reader. It is altogether more worthy of its author in its scenes of hurry, of tumult, and confusion, than in those of a more quiet and philosophical nature. Like _Calavar_ and _The Infidel_, it excels in the drama of action and passion, and fails in the drama of colloquy. It is inferior, as a whole, to the _Infidel_, and vastly inferior to _Calavar_. PEERAGE AND PEASANTRY. _Tales of the Peerage and the Peasantry, Edited by Lady Dacre. New York: Harper & Brothers._ We had been looking with much impatience for the republication of these volumes, and henceforward we shall look with still greater anxiety for any thing announced as under the _editorial_ supervision of Lady Dacre. But why, Lady Dacre, this excessive show of modesty, or rather this most unpardonable piece of affectation? Why deny having written volumes whose authorship would be an enviable and an honorable {47} distinction to the proudest literati of your land? And why, above all, announce yourself as editor in a title-page, merely to proclaim yourself author in a preface?