Oh! for a seat on Appalachia's brow, That I might scan the glorious prospects round, Wild waving woods, and rolling floods below, Smooth level glades and fields with grain embrowned, High heaving hills, with tufted forests crowned, Rearing their tall tops to the heaven's blue dome, And emerald isles, _like banners green unwound, Floating along the lake, while round them roam Bright helms of billowy blue, and plumes of dancing foam_. In the _Extracts from Leon_, are passages not often surpassed in vigor of passionate thought and expression--and which induce us to believe not only that their author would have succeeded better in prose romance than in poetry, but that his attention would have naturally fallen into the former direction, had the Destroyer only spared him a little longer. This poem contains also lines of far greater poetic power than any to be found in the _Culprit Fay_. For example-- The stars have lit in heaven their lamps of gold, The _viewless_ dew falls lightly on the world; The gentle air _that softly sweeps the leaves_ A strain of faint unearthly music weaves: As when the harp of heaven _remotely_ plays, Or cygnets _wail_--or song of _sorrowing_ fays That _float amid the moonshine glimmerings pale_, On wings of woven air in some enchanted vale.[10] [Footnote 10: The expression "woven air," much insisted upon by the friends of Drake, seems to be accredited to him as original. It is to be found in many English writers--and can be traced back to Apuleius who calls fine drapery _ventum textilem_.] _Niagara_ is objectionable in many respects, and in none more so than in its frequent inversions of language, and the artificial character of its versification. The invocation, Roar, raging torrent! and thou, mighty river, Pour thy white foam on the valley below! Frown ye dark mountains, &c. is ludicrous--and nothing more. In general, all such invocations have an air of the burlesque. In the present instance we may fancy the majestic Niagara replying, "Most assuredly I will roar, whether, worm! thou tellest me or not." _The American Flag_ commences with a collection of those bald conceits, which we have already shown to have no dependence whatever upon the Poetic Power--springing altogether from Comparison. When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle bearer down And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land.