« AnteriorContinuar »
The rain and sunshine are my caterers,
" Then Rhæcus, with a flutter at the heart, Yet, by the prompting of such beauty, bold, Answered: What is there that can satisfy The endless craving of the soul but love? Give me thy love, or but the hope of that Which must be evermore my spirit's goal.' After a little pause she said again, But with a glimpse of sadness in her tone, "I give it, Rhæcus, though a perilous gift; An hour before the sunset meet me here.' And straightway there was nothing he could see But the green glooms beneath the shadowy oak, And not a sound came to his straining ears But the low trickling rustle of the leaves, And far away upon an emerald slope The falter of an idle shepherd's pipe.
“Now, in those days of simpleness and faith, Men did not think that happy things were dreams Because they overstepped the narrow bourne Of likelihood, but reverently deemed Nothing too wondrous or too beautiful To be the guerdon of a daring heart. So Rhæcus made no doubt that he was blest, And all along unto the city's gate Earth seemed to spring beneath him as he walked, The clear, broad sky looked bluer than its wont, And he could scarce believe he had not wings, Such sunshine seemed to glitter through his veins Instead of blood, so light he felt and strange.
Young Rhæcus had a faithful heart enough, But one that in the present dwelt too much, And, taking with blithe welcome whatsoe'er Chance gave of joy, was wholly bound in that, Like the contented peasant of a vale, Deemed it the world, and never looked beyond. So, haply meeting in the afternoon Some comrades who were playing at the dice, He joined them and forgot all else beside.
“ The dice were rattling at the merriest,
" Quite spent and out of breath he reached the tree,
up with nectar any mortal heart: But thou didst
“ Then Rhæcus beat his breast, and groaned aloud, And cried, Be pitiful! forgive me yet This once, and I shall never need it more!' • Alas !' the voice returned, " 't is thou art blind,
Not I unmerciful; I can forgive,
But from that eve he was alone on earth.” " A Glance behind the Curtain ” is excellent in parts, but is a terribly protracted glance.
The “ Chippewa Legend” is very good, except the improvement, which has no other fault but that of being unnecessary. One cant expression in the poem should be blotted out in the next edition; “ Old lies and shams.” The affected writers have repeated the word sham so often, that no respectable author can use it safely for the next hundred years.
We have no great fondness for sentimentality in type. Much of this in the present volume would have been better omitted. Subjective feelings, to use the jargon of philosophical criticism, should be but rarely and reservedly expressed in books. The sonnets are the least successful pieces ; especially those addressed to Wordsworth, which, so far as they have any meaning at all, have an assuming one.
We close our extracts with the fine poem called " The Heritage.”
" The rich man's son inherits lands,
And piles of brick, and stone, and gold,
And tender flesh that fears the cold,
Nor dares to wear a garment old ;
The bank may break, the factory burn,
And soft, white hands could hardly earn
A heritage, it seems to me,
One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 6. The rich man's son inherits wants,
His stomach craves for dainty fare ;
Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare,
And wearies in his easychair ;
One scarce would wish to hold in fee.
Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, A hardy frame, a hardier spirit;
King of two hands, he does his part
In every useful toil and art ; A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee. “ What doth the poor man's son inherit ?
Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, A rank adjudged by toilwon merit,
Content that from employment springs,
A heart that in his labor sings ; A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee. " What doth the poor man's son inherit ?
A patience learned of being poor, Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it,
A fellow-feeling that is sure
To make the outcast bless his door ; A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee. “O, rich man's son! there is a toil,
That with all others level stands; Large charity doth never soil,
But only wbiten, soft, white hands,
This is the best crop from thy lands; A heritage, it seems to me,
Worth being rich to hold in fee. “O, poor man's son ! scorn not thy state ;
There is worse weariness than thine, In merely being rich and great;
Toil only gives the soul to shine,
And makes rest fragrant and benign ;
Are equal in the earth at last ;
Prove title to your heirship vast
By record of a well-filled past ;
Well worth a life to hold in fee." We have endeavoured to do justice to the merits of this young and gifted poet, while we have pointed out, with perfect candor, the faults that still inhere in his poetical manner, and the dangerous influences to which his poetical genius is exposed. That he will soar above the spirit of coteries ; that he will reject the bad taste of cultivating singularities in thought and expression, and descend from the clouds of vague philosophy and Utopian reforms; that he will brace his mind with strengthening knowledge in science, history, and social life ; and that he will thus create a noble sphere for the exercise of his fine powers, and give additional lustre to a name already crowned with the honors of professional, literary, and mercantile eminence ; is what we not only hope, but, in the faith of achievements already performed, confidently predict and believe.
Report of the Land Agent of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, laid before the Legislature, January 10th, 1844. By GEORGE W. COFFIN. 8vo.
In a former number of this Journal, * we devoted some attention to the forest trees of America, and took a passing notice of the lumberer ; t we propose, now, to give a brief
* N. A. Review, Number XCV.
+ The necessity of introducing new words into a language grows out of the changes effected from time to time in the circumstances and pursuits of men.
The use of the word lumber and its derivatives is peculiar to this