Were we to say in the fewest possible words what we think of the claims of the author of the volume before us, it should be in those with which we laid it down, after an earnest and delighted perusal — "Here is a Poet." Fertile as the age is, in poetical writers of high performance and promise, we know of few who have done better, or who offer a brighter expectancy, than Henry Neele. The effusions of his genius are of that order which, though they entrance not with wonder, have all the power of a charm upon our senses; abounding in a thousand captivating felicities of thought, imagery, and expression. We select as a specimen, the following spirited Anacreontic:
Come, fill the bowl! — oh, fill it up!
Shun schoolmen's lore to-night.
The well Truth dwells in is the cup
That sparkles ruby-bright.
Count not the minutes as they pass,
Nor at old Time repine;
But shake the sands from out his glass,
And fill it up with wine.