Obrazy na stronie

Is all on flame, a censer filled with odours, bush spoken of in the Old Testament And to my mind, who feel thy fearful -a censer filled with odours-and a power,

slumbering volcano ! That is not Suggesting passive terrors and delights, poetry. But here comes to us an asA slumbering volcano,” &c.

tounding personification - which we Here the heart of Imagination is—if leave, without criticism, to be admired we rightly understand it—the burning if you choose.

“ Thy dark cheek,
Warm and transparent, by its half-formed dimple
Reveals an under-world of wondrous things
Ripe in their richness,—as among the bays
Of blest Bermuda, through the sapphire deep,
Ruddy and white, fantastically branch
The coral groves : thy broad and supny brow,
Made fertile by the genial smile of heaven,
Shoots up an hundred fold the glorious crop
Of arabesque ideas; forth from thy curls
Half hidden in their black luxuriance
The twining sister-graces lightly spring,
The Muses, and the Passions, and Young Love,
Tritons and Naiads, Pegasus, and Sphinx,
Atlas, Briareus, Phæton, and Cyclops,
Centaurs, and shapes uncouth, and wild conceits :
And in the midst blazes the star of mind,
Illumining the classic portico
That leads to the high dome where Learning sits :
On either side of that broad sunny brow
Flame-coloured pinions, streaked with gold and blue,
Burst from the teeming brain; while under them
The forked ligbtning, and the cloud-robed thunder,
And fearful shadows, and unhallowed eyes,
And strange foreboding forms of terrible things
Lurk in the midnight of thy raven locks."

Here and there we meet with a Screened from the north by groves of rather goodish line-as for example- rooted thoughts."

“ Thou hast wreathed me smiles, And hung them on a statue's marble lips,” will admire this too

You admire it ?—then probably you And again“ Hast made earth’s dullest pebbles bright"

So, too, the memory of departed joy, like gems.”

Walking in black with sprinkled tears of And still better, perhaps


Passes before the mind with look less “ Hast lengthened out my nights with life

stern, long dreams.”

And foot more lightened, when thine in-We are willing, but scarcely able,

ward power, to be pleased with the following image: Most gentle friend, upon the clouded face “ First feelings, and young hopes, and

Sheds the fair light of better joy to come,

And throws round Grief the azure scarf of better aims, And sensibilities of delicate sort,

Hope." Like timorous mimosas, which the breath,

How far better had that thought The cold and cautious breath of daily life, Hath not, as yet, had power to blight or been, if expressed in simplest lankill,

guage, and without any figure at all! From my heart's garden ; for they stood The Invocation ends thus,


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So have I sped with thee, my bright-eyed love,
Imagination, over pathless wilds,
Bounding from thought to thought, unmindful of
The fever of my soul that shot them up
And made a ready footing for my speed,
As like the whirlwind I have flown along
Winged with ecstatic mind, and carried away,
Like Ganymede of old, o'er cloudcapt Ida,
Or Alps, or Andes, or the ice-bound shores
Of Arctic or Antarctic,-stolen from earth
Her sister-planets and the twinkling eyes
That watch her from afar, to the pure seat
Of rarest Matter's last created world,
And brilliant balls of self-existing Light.”

We call that bad. Like a cha- an avalanche, though we are aware mois - like a whirlwind-like Gany- that avalanches hold their places by mede! Shew us a flight--without a precarious tenure. However, the telling us what it is like-and leave sight of so minute a gentleman sliding us to judge for ourselves whether or unappalled on a huge avalanche from no you are a poet and can fly.

the Grindlewald to the Shrikeborn's Does Imagination inspire “ The edge, would be of itself worth a jourSong of an Alpine Elf ?" The Alpine ney to Switzerland. But what a cruel Elf sings

little wretch it is! not satisfied with My summer's home is the cataract's pushing the ibex over the precipice,

he does not scruple to avow, foam, As it floats in a frothing heap ;

" That my greatest joy is to lure and decoy My winter's rest is the weasel's nest,

To the chasm's slippery brink, Or deep with the mole I sleep."

The hunter bold, when he's weary

and old,

And there let him suddenly sink We daresay there are moles and wea

A thousand feet--dead !—he dropped like sels among the Alps, but one does

lead, not think of them there ; and had Mr

Hal he couldn't leap like me; Tupper ever taken up a weasel by

With broken back, as a felon on the rack, the tail, between his finger and thumb, He hangs on a split pine tree.” he would not, we are persuaded, have Why shove only the old hunter over conceived it possible that any Elf, ac- the chasm ? 'Twould be far better customed to live during summer in sport, one would think, to an Alpine the froth of a cataract, could have cif, to precipitate the young bridebeen “ so far left to himself” as to have sought winter lodgings with an

groom. “ Hal he couldn't leap like

me," is a fine touch of cgotism and animal of such an intolerable stink.

insult--and how natural ! And what are the Alpine Elf's pur

And there mid his bones, that echoed suits ? “ I ride for a freak on the lightning streak, I make me a nest of his hair ; And mingle among the cloud,

The ribs dry and white rattle loud as in My swarthy form with the thunder-storm,

spite, Wrapp'd in its sable shroud."

When I rock in my cradle there : A very small thunder storm indeed Hurrah, hurrah, and ha, ha, ha! would suffice to wrap his Elf-ship in

I'm in a merry mood, its sable shroud ; but is he not too

For I'm all alone in my palace of bone, magniloquent for a chum of the mole

That's tapestried fair with the old man's

hair, and the weasel ? What would be the astonishment of the mole to see his

And dappled with clots of blood." bed-fellow as follows

At what season of the year? Du

ring summer his home is in a “ froth“ Often I launch the huge avalanche,

ing heat;' during winter he sleeps And make it my milk-white sledge, with the weasel or moudy-warp. It When unappalled to the Grindle wald I slide from the Shrikehorn's edge.”

must be in spring or autumn that he

makes his nest in a dead man's hair. By his own account he cannot be How imaginative! much more than a span long—and we Turn we now to a reality, and see are sceptical as to his ability to launch how Mr Tupper, who likened himself

with groans,

to a chamois, deals with a chamois. “ He thought what fear it were to fall hunter. He describes one scaling Into the pit that swallows all, “ Catton's battlement” before the peep Unwing'd with hope and love ; of day, and now at its summit.

And when the succour came at last,

O then he learnt how firm and fast “ Over the top, as he knew well,

Was his best Friend above."
Beyond the glacier in the dell
A herd of chamois slept ;

That is much better than any thing So down the other dreary side,

yet quoted, and cannot be read with With cautious step, or careless slide

out a certain painful interest. But He bounded, or he crept.

the composition is very poor.

“ O heaven! " And now he scans the chasmed ice ; He stoops to leap, and in a trice

He hath leapt in!” His foot hath slipp'd, - heaven ! Well-what then? « and down be He hath leapt in, and down he falls falls !" Indeed! We do not object to Between those blue tremendous walls, " between those blue tremendous Standing asunder riven.

walls," but why tell us they were

“ standing asunder riven?" We knew " But quick his clutching nervous grasp he had been on the edge of the Contrives a jutting crag to clasp,

o chasmed ice." “ O moment of exAnd thus he hangs in air ;

ulting bliss !” No-no-no. “Many O moment of exulting bliss !

a rood”-perpendicular altitude is Yet hope so dearly hopeless is

never measured by roods nor yet by Twin brother to despair.

perches. Satan “ lay floating many a

rood"_but no mention of roods when “ He look'd beneath,-a horrible doom! Some thousand yards of deepening gloom, head grows dizzy"-aye that it did

“ his stature reached the sky." “ His Where he must drop to die ! He look'd above, and many a rood

long before the fifteen hours had es. Upright the frozen ramparts stood

pired. “ But stop, 0 stop" is, we Around a speck of sky.

fear, laughable-yet we do not laugh

--for 'tis no laughing matter and “ Fifteen long dreadful hours he hung,

never in life give up your hope" is And often by strong breezes swung

at so very particular a juncture too His fainting body twists,

general an injunction. “ Be cool, Scarce can he cling one moment more,

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hold on fast" is a leetle too much, His half-dead hands are ice, and sore addressed to poor Pierre, whose“ half His burning bursting wrists.

dead hands were ice," and who had

been hanging on by them for fifteen “ His head grows dizzy,-he must drop,

hours. He half resolves,—but stop, O stop, “ And so from out that terrible place, Hold on to the last spasm,

With death's pule paint upon his face, Never in life give up your hope,

They drew him up at last”-
Behold, behold a friendly rope
Is dropping down the chasm !

is either very good or very bad-and

we refer it to Wordsworth. The conThey call thee, Pierre,—see, see them cluding stanzas are tame in the exhere,

Thy gathered neighbours far and near, “ For many harrowing terrors ran
Be cool, man, hold on fast :

Through his poor heart that day!"
And so from out that terrible place,
With death's pale paint upon his face

We can easily believe it; but never They drew him up at last.

after such a rescue was there so feeble

an expression from poet's heart of reAnd he came home an altered man,

ligious gratitude in the soul of a sinFor many harrowing terrors ran

ner saved. Through his poor heart that day ;

The “ African Desert" and " The He thought how all through life, though Suttees" look like Oxford Unprized young,

Poems. The Caravan, after suffering Upon a thread, a hair, he hung,

the deceit of the mirage, a-dust are Over a gulf midway:

aware of a well.

" Hope smiles again, as with instinctive haste
The panting camels rush along the waste,

And snuff the grateful breeze, that sweeping by
Wafts its cool fragrance through the cloudless sky,
Swift as the steed that feels the slacken'd rein
And flies impetuous o'er the sounding plain,
Eager as, bursting from an Alpine source,
The winter torrent in its headlong course,
Still hasting on, the wearied band behold
- The green oase, an emerald couch'd in gold !
And now the curving rivulet they descry,
That bow of hope upon a stormy sky,
Now ranging its luxuriant banks of green
In silent rapture gaze upon the scene :
His graceful arms the palm was waving there
Caught in the tall acacia's tangled hair,
While in festoons across his branches slung
The gay kossom its scarlet tassels hung;
The flowering colocynth had studded round
Jewels of promise o'er the joyful ground,
And where the smile of day burst on the stream,
The trembling waters glitter'd in the beam."

There is no thirst here- -our palate could much mend it; but some of the grows not dry as we read. What most agreeable men we know labour passion is there in saying that the under it, and we suspect owe to it no camels rushed along the waste, inconsiderable part of their power in Swift as the steed that feels the slackconversation. People listen to their ened rein,"

impeded prosing more courteously, And flies impetuous o'er the sounding and more attentively, than to the prate plain ?"

of those whose sweet course is not • Not a bit." And still worse is

hindered ;" and thus encouraged, they

grow more and more loquacious in their “ Eager as bursting from an Alpine source The winter torrent in its headlong course;"

vivacity, till they fairly take the lead

in argument or anecdote, and are the for there should have been no allusion delight and instruction of the evening, to water any where else but there ; as it may hap, in literature, philosothe groan and the cry was for water to phy, or politics. Then, a scandalous drink; and had Mr Tupper felt for the story, stuttered or stammered, is irrecaravan, men and beasts, no other sistible—every point tells—and blunt water would he have seen in his ima. indeed, as the head of a pin, must be gination-it would have been impos- that repartee that extricates not itself sible for him to have thought of liken. with a jerk from the tongue-tied, sharp ing the cavalcade to Alpine sources as the point of a needle. and winter torrents-he would have We beg to assure Mr Tupper, that huddled it all headlong, prone, or on

his sympathy with the “ Stammerer," its hands, hoofs, and knees, into the would extort from the lips of the water of salvation. The green oase, most swave of that fortunate class, an emerald couched in gold! !Water! who, it must be allowed, are occasionWater! Water! and there it is! ally rather irritable, characteristic ex. That bow of hope upon a stormy sky!!!" pressions of contempt; and that so far

from thinking their peculiarity any They are on its banks—and

impediment, except merely in speech, “ In silent rapture gaze upon the scene !!!” they pride themselves, as well as they

may, from experience, on the advantage And then he absolutely paints it! it gives them in a colloquy, over the not in water colours—but in chalks. glib. If to carry its point at last be Graceful arms of palms-tangled hair the end of eloquence, they are not only of acacia-scarlet tassels of kossoms in the most eloquent, but the only elofestoons-and the jewels of promise of quent of men. No stammerer was ever the flowering colocynth!!!

beaten in argument -- his opponents Stammering or stuttering, certainly always are glad to give in--and often, is an unpleasant defect-or weakness after they have given in, and suppose in the power of articulation or speech, their submission has been accepted, and we don't believe that Dr Browster they find the contrary of all that from a


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dig on the side, that drives the breath “ Then thou canst picture-aye, in sober out of their body, and keeps them truth, speechless for the rest of the night, In real, unexaggerated truth,— while the stream of conversation, if it The constant, galling, festering chain that

binds may be called so, keeps issuing in jets and jerks, from the same inexhaustible Captive my mute interpreter of thought ;

The seal of lead enstamped upon my lips, source, pausing but to become more

The load of iron on my labouring chest, potent, and delivering, per hour, we fear to say how many imperial gallons The mocking demon, that at every step

Haunts me,- and spurs me on—to burst into the reservoir.

in silence." Therefore, we cannot but smile at Heaven preserve us! is the world so of the Stammerer's Complaint”

ill off for woes—are they so scantput into his lips by Mr Tupper. He that a Poet who indites blank verse to is made to ask us

Imagination, can dream of none wor“ Hast ever seen an eagle chained to earth? thier his lamentations than the occa. A restless panther to his cage immur'd ?

sional and not unfrequent inconveA swift trout by the wily fisher check'd ?

niences that a gifted spirit experiences A wild bird hopeless strain its broken

from a lack of fluency of words ?

“I scarce would wonder, if a godless man, We have ; but what is all such sights (I name not him whose hope is heavento the purpose ? An eagle chained

ward,) cannot fly an inch-a panther in a cage A man whom lying vanities hath scath'd can prowl none-a trout “ checked”

And harden'd from all fear,-if such an one basketted, we presume—is as good as By this tyrannical Argus goaded on, gutted-a bird winged is already dish- Were to be wearied of bis very life, ed—but a stammerer, “still begin. And daily, hourly foiled in social converse, ning, never ending,” is in all his glory By the slow simmering of disappointment, when he meets a consonant whom he Become a sour'd and apathetic being, will not relinquish till he has conquer

Were to feel rapture at the approach of ed him, and dragged him in captivity

death, at the wheels of his chariot,

And long for his dark hope,-annihila

tion." «« While the swift axles kindle as they What if he were dumb ? roll."

Mr Tupper is a father-and some Mr Tupper's Stammerer then is made of his domestic verses are very pleas

ing-such as his sonnet to little Ellen, “ Hast ever felt, at the dark dead of night, and his sonnet to little Mary ; but we Some undefined and horrid incubus prefer the stanzas entitled “ Children,” Press down the very soul,—and paralyse and quote them as an agreeable sample, The limbs in their imaginary fight premising that they would not have From shadowy terrors in unhallowed been the worse of some little tincture sleep?"

of imaginative feeling-for, expressive We have; but what is all that to the as they are of mere natural emotion, purpose, unless it be to dissuade us they cannot well be said to be poetry. from supping on pork-chop? Such op- We object, too, to the sentiment of pression on the stomach, and through the close, for thousands of childless it on all the vital powers, is the

men are rich in the enjoyment of life's effect of indigestion, and is horrible ; best affections; and some of the hapbut the Stammerer undergoes no such piest couples and the best we have rending of soul from body, in striving ever known, are among those from to give vent to his peculiar utterance whom God has withheld the gift of

- not he indeed—'tis all confined to offspring. Let all good Christian peohis organs

of speech-his agonies are ple be thankful for the mercies graapparent not real-and he is conscious ciously vouchsafed to them; but bebut of an enlivening emphasis that, ware of judging the lot of others by while all around him are drowsy, keeps

their own, and of seeking to confine him wide awake, and banishes Sleep either worth, happiness, or virtue, to his native land of Nod.

within one sphere of domestic life, selves have what is called an impedi- however blessed they may feel it to be ; ment in our speech-and do “ make i. For the blue sky bends over all,' wry faces," but we never thought of and our fate here below is not deterexclaiming to ourselves,

mined by the stars.

to say,

We our

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