WILLIAM G. CROSBY. HON. WILLIAM G. CROSBY, the present Whig Governor of this State, is a native of the city of Belfast, where he now resides, engaged in the practice of law. He is an alumnus of Bowdoin College and one of the Bowdoin Poets,' spoken of in our sketch of Mr. Weston. While a member of this institution he devoted himself quite successfully to the Muses, and we believe published a small volume of poems, although he writes us that he never meets any of his old productions without a strong desire to disclaim their authorship, and cast them into oblivion. Notwithstanding this, we feel obliged, owing to the superior merit of his poetry, and the prominent positions which he has occupied in the literary world, to place him among the Native Poets of Maine. Of late years, he has written but very little, and that prose, although his poetry is of a higher order, and is better calculated to show the true character and depth of his talent. The works to which Mr. Crosby contributed, when devoting his unoccupied moments to literary recreation, were of the most popular kind then published. Among others, were 'The Token,' a Boston Annual, edited by Nathaniel P. Willis, and other distinguished literary men. The Legendary,' a work illustrating scenes, manners, and legends of our country, and of which we have alluded to more fully in our other sketches; and the Bowdoin Poets.' He is introduced into Specimens of American Poetry,' a work in three volumes, edited by Samuel Kettell, and published by S. G. Goodrich & Co., Boston, in 1829. In the Biographical Sketch,' of a few lines only, the editor introduces him as the author of Poetical Illustrations of the Atheneum Gallery, besides various other performances in verse.' The poem WILLIAM G. CROSBY. given in that work as a specimen of Mr. Crosby's poetry,was one entitled, 'To a Lady, with a Withered Leaf,' which we have included in this volume. For several years Mr. Crosby has been engaged in political matters, and filled several offices of importance and trust connected with the affairs of State, and public movements. It cannot be expected that a man, however gifted and however highly and delicately cultivated his mind may be, who goes into the arena of political strife, amid its calumnies, intrigues, and debasing influences, can retain, to any honorable extent a companionship with the Muse. A man whose mind has been cultivated, as his has been, should find a sphere of greater usefulness far removed from such scenes, where he could do honor to himself, to his friends, and to the noble gifts which nature has endowed him with. How much happier, and more peacefully would his pathway down the slope of declining years be made, and how much more calmly and resignedly would he go down into his grave, over which the voice of calumny, enmity, and political wrongs would never be breathed. TELLING THE DREAM. "Tis a most beauteous night! Ianthe, come! Wilt thou walk forth? Oh! I am sick at heart I cannot laugh Of this gay revelry. Its busy hum Falls heavy on mine ear. With these light-hearted laughers, and mine eye Is wearied with gazing, Thy mantle round thee. Let me fling Is't not beautiful! The radiance of this starry sky? How pale, Upon Leucate's height, and swan-like died. She dreamed - but dreamed too madly! And, perchance, On such a night, the Roman Antony Threw off the crown and purple, and gave up Glory, dominion for a wanton's smile! He was a dreaming madman was he not, For woman's smile? Come, rest within this bower, And I will tell thee, though thy lips may chide, I had lain down to slumber on a bank Was wandering here, with thee! 'Twas strange, Ianthe! One half so lovely and, indeed, till now, It never did, Ianthe! And then I Strange, that my brain should dream what my tongue fears And even worship thee! And then I swore, Would guard and cherish thee, wouldst thou but be Of a sigh that hath found utterance. Then I twined If I might dare to love; and then thine eyes Thy lips parted with a sigh—and then- Do dreams always prove true, Ianthe? |