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As Jove's lost creed, with deity and life-
And where Apollo hymn'd, where Venus smil'd;
Where laugh'd from every rose the Paphian child;
Where in each wave the wanton nymph was seen;
Where in each moonbeam shone Endymion's queen;
Where in each laurel, from the eternal bough
Daphne wreathed chaplets for a dreamy brow;
To the wreck'd thrones of the departed creeds
A solemn Faith, a lonely God succeeds;
And o'er the heathen altars of our youth,
Reigns, 'mid a silence disenchanted, - Truth!"

pp. 178, 179.

The following night-scene is perhaps the best of its kind in the whole book. The images are all in keeping (a rare thing with our author), and the expression, especially in the verse we have Italicized, condensed and energetic.

“'Tis night,
As speed the cloud-wracks through the gusty air:

a night by fits, now foul, now fair,

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At times the wild blast dies and fair and far,
Through chasms of cloud, looks down the solemn star ·
Or the majestic moon; -as watchfires mark
Some sleeping War dim-tented in the dark;
Or as, through antique Chaos and the storm
Of Matter, whirl'd and writhing into form
Pale angels peer'd!

"Anon, from brief repose

The winds leap forth, the cloven deeps reclose;
Mass upon mass the hurtling vapors driven,

And one huge blackness walls the earth from heaven! "

- p. 189.

As we said above, narrative seems the author's true sphere. His reflections are often commonplace, sometimes puerile, and display more knowledge of society than of man. Often a thought slender in itself is invested with a burly air by means of initial capitals. But when he has a story to tell, he is in his native element. He never flags, his versification becomes bolder and more sustained, the transitions are rapid and fluent, and incident follows incident without confusion and with a culminating interest.

The author of the New Timon might have studied Pope to more purpose than he has done. He is often exceedingly obscure. Brevis esse laborat, obscurus fit. There are pas

sages in the poem which have defied our utmost capacity of penetration. Nor is his use of language always correct. His metaphors are frequently confused, as, for instance, on page 154:

"From the way-side yon drooping flower I bore;

Warm'd at my heart, its root grew to the core."

A new method of reviving wilted plants. As a metrist he has departed widely from his professed original. In this respect he has done wisely, for Pope's measure is quite too uniform for the abrupt changes and varying inflections of a narrative. But too often he weakens a verse by a repetition of trivial monosyllables; as,

"Wept tears that seemed to sweet founts to belong." — p. 28. "Thou com'st to slaughter, to depart in joy." — p. 154. Or by a word not strongly or decidedly enough accented; as, "Not even yet the alien blood confessed." "Lists the soft lapse of the glad waterfall."

p. 128.
p. 163.

We object, also, to his mode of using the Alexandrine as too abrupt. The metre should flow into it with a more gradual and easy swell. One of our own countrymen, Dr. Holmes, has a much surer mastery over this trying measure. We think the subject of metre one to be studied deeply by all who undertake to write in verse. We cannot quite agree with old Samuel Daniel, who, in his noble "Defense of Rime," asserts that "whatsoever form of words doth move, delight, and sway the affections of men, in what Scythian sort soever it be disposed or uttered, that is true number, measure, eloquence, and the perfection of speech." No doubt, the effect produced is the chief point; but in truth, the best utterances of the best minds have never been Scythian, coming to us rather "with their garlands and singing-robes about them."

In conclusion, we should say that vivacity, rather than strength, was the characteristic of our author; that rapidity of action, rather than depth or originality, was the leading trait of his mind. In his contempt of Laura-Matildaism, he sometimes carries his notions of manliness to an extreme which would be more offensive, were it not altogether absurd. He says, for example, that

"Even in a love-song man should write for men!"

p. 50.

Imagine the author of the New Timon serenading Lord Stanley, who seems to be an object of his admiration, with "Sleep, gentleman, sleep!" It follows, as a matter of course, that his female characters (the simplest test of a creative poetic genius) are mere shadows.

If we might hazard a guess, we should name Bulwer as the probable author of this poem. It seems hardly possible that it should be the first production of a young writer. The skilfulness with which the plot is constructed, perfection in which is perhaps the slowest attainment of writers of fiction, seems to argue against such a supposition. Moreover, the characters and general sentiment are very much in Bulwer's manner. The fondness for personifying qualities or passions, and of giving a factitious importance to ordinary conceptions by means of initial capitals, is also one of his strongest peculiarities. The moral of the story, too, is within bis range. Had we time, we might confirm our theory by a tolerably strong array of minor corroborations. But we must perforce content ourselves with merely throwing out the suggestion. It can hardly be supposed that the authorship of a poem which ran at once through several editions can long remain a secret. The fate of Junius is a warning to all authors not to preserve the anonymous too strictly.

ART. IX. Views afoot; or Europe seen with Knapsack and Staff. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR. With a Preface by N. P. WILLIS. New York: Wiley & Putnam. 1846. 12mo. pp. 343.

THERE is something which we like well in the title of this unpretending work; it is straightforward and expressive, suiting well with the character in which the writer presents himself to the world. One of our modern writers, who think it refinement to go as far as possible from the Saxon barbarism of former days, might have described it as views seen when he was being" on foot in Europe; but with all the evident grace of such forms of speech, which are now in high favor, we cannot help thinking that the plain phrase sounds as well, and conveys the meaning better. We say better, be

cause it is more characteristic; it conveys the idea of a directness of mind, such as does not let "I dare not" wait upon "I would"; such as enables a man to form his purpose, and carry it forthright into action; such as gives him, when he stands in presence of scenes and persons that he has longed to see, sufficient independence and self-feeling to know clearly what his own impressions are, and to set them faithfully down; in a word, such as gives the manly decision which this writer manifested in forming his plans for visiting Europe, when he doubtless had the cold comfort of finding it esteemed the most ridiculous enterprise in the world. He saw that the fulfilment of this bright hope of his early days was a possible thing; and though it must be done with toil and trouble, with humility and self-denial, and with a brave contempt for those social obstacles which are harder to overcome than any which nature throws in the way, he felt that he had power to meet the labor and to make the sacrifice, confident that he should be overpaid for his efforts and privations by the satisfaction and improvement which the pilgrimage would bring. Most ancient men would say, that for a journeyman printer, without property, without friends, without encouragement, to undertake the tour of Europe, was the wildest of all human visions; and we doubt not that Mr. Taylor received rich presents of this kind of sympathy from those who knew his adventurous design. But those prudent and estimable persons were looking, all the while, to external advantages for the purpose, and making no account of inward resources; when experience shows, that, whether to trudge through Europe, or to foot it through life, for John Wesley says there is no carriage-road to heaven, the strong mind and strong heart are more than a match for them all.


And yet, in such a pilgrimage there must be a great deal to encounter; for it is a familiar truth, though, when examined, a queer one, that when nature gave us hands and feet, with an evident intent that they should be employed, men should esteem those most respectable and fortunate whose condition is such that they never use them. The great object of social existence is for each to raise himself to a position where he can be as lazy and good for nothing as he pleases; and when he has drawn that high prize in the lottery of life, he is secure of outward homage, even though he cumber and curse the ground. The head may be as empty as

famine, but other heads will bend to it with graceful homage; while, if the same vacuum be in the pocket, where nature abhors it less, and man considerably more, there are none to do it reverence. Should it be the poor man's lot to travel, no full-orbed landlord smiles upon him; the waiter passes coldly by; he must almost scale the heavens to find his barren little upper chamber; and at table the meats are cold as this world's charity, before they are served to him. Those animals, assuming to be human because they go on their hind legs, who are insolent where they have the opportunity, welcome him as a mark for their scorn; and if his comfort depends on the deference and attention of others, he will have but little to enjoy.

If, however, he is sufficient to himself as a man, feeling that the humblest are as much, and the greatest are nothing more; if he can take the world as it is, and not expect to find icicles in August, nor flowers in the snow; if he sets his own price upon himself, and does not submit to the appraisement of those who judge from without of what may be within, -he will find the misanthropy, which looking at the surface is apt to engender, giving place to a healthier feeling. He will no more be angry with boors high and low, than with "briers which prick and scratch, because they can do no other"; he will receive insult and unkindness, not as personal injuries, but as mere illustrations of human nature; and he will be surprised to find how much better mankind appears to one who thus regards them. He will find favor and friendliness in quarters where he least expected them; he will feel the affronts and injuries which afflicted him so much diminishing till they are few and small; and at last he will begin to suspect, that something may depend upon himself; and that, while he who is on the watch for discourtesy is sure to find as much of it as he wants, and rather more, whoever meets men with an open hand and heart will perceive currents of feeling under the roughest ice of manner, and will carry a sunshine with him that shall melt the ice and the coldness away.

Without knowing any thing of Mr. Taylor except from his book, we apprehend that he has made this discovery; or perhaps, as the Transcendentalists would say, he has it by revelation in his nature. He makes no complaint of insolence; if he found others rough and churlish, he did not think it necessary to distress himself therefor. If they withheld

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