Monument Mountain is a poem of about a hundred and forty blank Pentameters, and relates the tale of an Indian maiden who loved her cousin. Such a love being deemed incestuous by the morality of her tribe, she threw herself from a precipice and perished. There is little peculiar in the story or its narration. We quote a rough verse The mighty columns with which earth props heaven. In all that proud old world beyond the deep- sentences as -they deemed Like worshippers of the elder time that God the sweet South-west at play Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Her flush of maiden shame. The mountains that infold In their wide sweep the colored landscape round, All this is beautiful-the sentences italicized especially Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold. The Disinterred Warrior has a passage we do not clearly understand. Speaking of the Indian our author says For he was fresher from the hand That formed of earth the human face, In nearer kindred than our race. The Greek Boy consists of four spirited stanzas, nearly resembling, in metre, The Living Lost. The two concluding lines are highly ideal. A shoot of that old vine that made When the Firmament Quivers with Daylight's Young Beam, belongs to a species of poetry which we cannot be brought to admire. Some natural phenomenon is observed, and the poet taxes his ingenuity to find a Milton, it is true, uses it—we remember it especially in parallel in the moral world. In general, we may asComus 'Tis most true That musing meditation most affects sume, that the more successful he is in sustaining the parallel, the farther he departs from the true province of the Muse. The title, here, is a specimen of the metre. This is of a kind which we have before desig but then Milton would not use it were he writing Comusnated as exceedingly difficult to manage. to-day. To a Musquito, is droll, and has at least the merit of In the Summer Wind, our author has several success-making, at the same time, no efforts at being sentiful attempts at making "the sound an echo to the mental. We are not inclined, however, to rank as sense." For examplepoems, either this production or the article on New England Coal. For me, I lie Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf All is silent, save the faint And interrupted murmur of the bee Settling on the sick flowers, and then again Instantly on the wing. The Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus has ninety Pentameters. One of them, Kind influence. Lo! their orbs burn more bright, can only be read, metrically, by drawing out influence into three marked syllables, shortening the long monosyllable, Lo! and lengthening the short one, their. June is sweet and soft in its rhythm, and inexpressi- | are very happy. A single thought pervades and gives bly pathetic. There is an illy subdued sorrow and in-unity to the piece. We are glad, too, to see an Alextense awe coming up, per force as it were, to the surface of the poet's gay sayings about his grave, which we find thrilling us to the soul. And what if cheerful shouts, at noon, Come, from the village sent, Or songs of maids, beneath the moon Of my low monument? I would the lovely scene around The season's glorious show, Nor would its brightness shine for me Should keep them lingering by my tomb. Innocent Child and Snow-White Flower, is remarkable only for the deficiency of a foot in one of its verses. White as those leaves just blown apart Are the folds of thy own young heart, andrine in the close. In the whole metrical construction of his sonnets, however, Mr. Bryant has very wisely declined confining himself to the laws of the Italian poem, or even to the dicta of Capel Lofft. The Alexandrine is beyond comparison the most effective finale, and we are astonished that the common Pentameter should ever be employed. The best sonnet of the seven is, we think, that To harshness in the last line finale is inimitable. With the exception of a but one it is perfect. The Ay, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine To a Cloud, has another instance of the affectation to and for the graceful repetition in its concluding qua- which we alluded in our notice of Earth, and The Livtrain Throw it aside in thy weary hour, Throw to the ground the fair white flower, Of the seven original sonnets in the volume before us, it is somewhat difficult to speak. The sonnet demands, in a great degree, point, strength, unity, compression, and a species of completeness. Generally, Mr. Bryant has evinced more of the first and the last, than of the three mediate qualities. William Tell is feeble. No forcible line ever ended with liberty, and the best of the rhymes-thee, me, free, and the like, are destitute of the necessary vigor. But for this rhythmical defect the thought in the concluding couplet The bitter cup they mingled strengthened thee would have well ended the sonnet. Midsummer is objectionable for the variety of its objects of allusion. Its final lines embrace a fine thought As if the day of fire had dawned and sent but the vigor of the whole is impaired by the necessity of placing an unwonted accent on the last syllable of firmament. October has little to recommend it, but the slight epigrammatism of its conclusion— And when my last sand twinkled in the glass, Pass silently from men-as thou dost pass. The Sonnet to Cole, is feeble in its final lines, and is worthy of praise only in the verses Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glen And the blue Gentian flower that, in the breeze, ing Lost. Whose sons at length have heard the call that comes And risen, and drawn the sword, and on the foe Of the Translations in the volume it is not our intention to speak in detail. Mary Magdalen, from the Spanish of Bartolome Leonardo De Argensola, is the finest specimen of versification in the book. Alexis, from the Spanish of Iglesias, is delightful in its exceeding delicacy, and general beauty. We cannot refrain from quoting it entire. Alexis calls me cruel The rifted crags that hold He says, are not more cold. Around the fountain's brim, I would that I could utter When heart inclines to heart, If man come not to gather The roses where they stand, The Waterfowl is very beautiful, but still not entitled to the admiration which it has occasionally elicited. There is a fidelity and force in the picture of the fowl as brought before the eye of the mind, and a fine sense of effect in throwing its figure on the back ground of the "crimson sky,” amid “falling | of Mr. Bryant. It has a beginning, middle, and end, dew," "while glow the heavens with the last steps of each depending upon the other, and each beautiful. day." But the merits which possibly have had most Here are three lines breathing all the spirit of Shelley. weight in the public estimation of the poem, are the Pleasant shall be thy way, where meckly bows melody and strength of its versification, (which is indeed The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, excellent) and more particularly its completeness. Its And 'twixt the o'ershadowing branches and the grass. rounded and didactic termination has done wonders. The conclusion is admirable-on my heart, Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight There are, however, points of more sterling merit. We Thou'rt gone-the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form. There is a power whose care The Forest Hymn consists of about a hundred and twenty blank Pentameters, of whose great rhythmical beauty it is scarcely possible to speak too highly. With the exception of the line The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds, Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face There is an excess of one syllable in the first of the lines italicized. If we discard this syllable here, and adopt it in the final line, the close will acquire strength, we think, in acquiring a fuller volume. Be it ours to meditate In these calm shades thy milder majesty, Go-but the circle of eternal change, Which is the life of Nature, shall restore, Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore, Thanatopsis is somewhat more than half the length of The Forest Hymn, and of a character precisely similar. It is, however, the finer poem. Like The Waterfowl, it owes much to the point, force, and general beauty of its didactic conclusion. In the commencement, the lines To him who, in the love of nature, holds belong to a class of vague phrases, which, since the The verse Go forth under the open sky and list is sadly out of place amid the forcible and even Miltonic rhythm of such lines as Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, But these are trivial faults indeed, and the poem embodies a great degree of the most elevated beauty. Two of its passages, passages of the purest ideality, would alone render it worthy of the general commendation it has received. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun-the vales Directness, boldness, and simplicity of expression, In majesty, and the complaining broo!:s are main features in the poem. Oh God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods, Here an ordinary writer would have preferred the word fright to scare, and omitted the definite article before woods and villages. To the Evening Wind has been justly admired. It is the best specimen of that completeness which we have before spoken of as a characteristic feature in the poems That make the meadows green-and, poured round all, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. Oh, Fairest of the Rural Maids! is a gem, of which we cannot sufficiently express our admiration. We quote it in full. Oh, fairest of the rural maids! Thy sports, thy wanderings when a child And all the beauty of the place The twilight of the trees and rocks Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene Of those calm solitudes, is there. A rich simplicity is a main feature in this poem-simplicity of design and execution. This is strikingly perceptible in the opening and concluding lines, and in expression throughout. But there is a far higher and more strictly ideal beauty, which it is less easy to analyze. The original conception is of the very loftiest order of true Poesy. A maiden is born in the forestGreen boughs and glimpses of the sky Are all which meet her infant eye rence to the beauty or the majesty of nature, is a most audible and thrilling tone of love and exultation. As far as he appreciates her loveliness or her augustness, no appreciation can be more ardent, more full of heart, more replete with the glowing soul of adoration. Nor, either in the moral or physical universe coming within the periphery of his vision, does he at any time fail to perceive and designate, at once, the legitimate items of the beautiful. Therefore, could we consider (as some have considered) the mere enjoyment of the beautiful when perceived, or even this enjoyment when combined with the readiest and truest perception and discrimination in regard to beauty presented, as a sufficient test of the poetical sentiment, we could have no hesitation in according to Mr. Bryant the very highest poetical rank. But something more, we have elsewhere presumed to say, is demanded. Just above, we spoke of "objects in the moral or physical universe coming within the periphery of his vision." We now mean to say, that the relative extent of these peripheries of poetical vision must ever be a primary consideration in our classification of poets. Judging Mr. B. in this She is not merely modelled in character by the associa-manner, and by a general estimate of the volume before tions of her childhood-this were the thought of an ordinary poet-an idea that we meet with every day in rhyme-but she imbibes, in her physical as well as moral being, the traits, the very features of the delicious scenery around her-its loveliness becomes a portion of her cun the shadows of the hair. The twilight of the trees and rocks Is in her heart and on her face. us, we should, of course, pause long before assigning him a place with the spiritual Shelleys, or Coleridges, or Wordsworths, or with Keats, or even Tennyson, or Wilson, or with some other burning lights of our own day, to be valued in a day to come. Yet if his poems, as a whole, will not warrant us in assigning him this grade, one such poem as the last upon which we have commented, is enough to assure us that he may attain it. The writings of our author, as we find them here, are characterized by an air of calm and elevated contemplation more than by any other individual feature. In their mere didactics, however, they err essentially and primitively, inasmuch as such things are the province rather of Minerva than of the Camena. Of imagination, we discover much-but more of its rich and certain evidences, than of its ripened fruit. In all the minor merits Mr. Bryant is pre-eminent. His ars celare artem is most efficient. Of his "completeness," unity, and finish of style, we have already spoken. As a versifier, we know of no writer, living or dead, who Feeling thus, we did not, in copying the poem, italicize can be said greatly to surpass him. A Frenchman the lines, although beautiful, Thy step is as the wind that weaves Its playful way among the leaves, nor those which immediately follow. The two conending verses, however, are again of the most elevated species of poetical merit. The forest depths by foot impressed The image contained in the lines Thine eyes are springs in whose serene is one which, we think, for appropriateness, completeness, and every perfect beauty of which imagery is susceptible, has never been surpassed—but imagery is susceptible of no beauty like that we have designated in the sentences above. The latter idea, moreover, is not original with our poet. would assuredly call him "un poète des plus correctes." Between Cowper and Young, perhaps, (with both of whom he has many points of analogy,) would be the post assigned him by an examination at once general and superficial. Even in this view, however, he has a juster appreciation of the beautiful than the one, of the sublime than the other-a finer taste than Cowper-an equally vigorous, and far more delicate imagination than Young. In regard to his proper rank among American poets there should be no question whatever. Fewat least few who are fairly before the public, have more than very shallow claims to a rivalry with the author of Thanatopsis. GEORGE BALCOMBE. George Balcombe. A Novel. New York: Harper and Brothers. The scene of this novel is laid partly in Missouri, and partly in Virginia. The hero proper of the bookIn all the rhapsodies of Mr. Bryant, which have refe- that is to say, the object of the narration-is a Mr. Wil VOL. III.-7 liam Napier of Craiganet, in the Old Dominion-George | to terminate in the midst of the prairie than to lead to Balcombe, although the most important of the dramatis a public haunt of men. I feared I had missed my way, personæ, being merely what, in critical parlance, is termed the machinery. and looked eagerly ahead for some traveller who might set me right if astray. But I looked in vain. The prairie lay before me, a wide waste without one moving object. The sun had just gone down; and as my horse, enlivened by the shade and the freshness of evening seemed to recover his mettle, I determined to push on and saw a man on horseback standing between me and moment a shout from behind reached my ear. I turned the sky, on the top of the east swell. Though a quarter of a mile off, his figure stood out in such distinct relief, that every limb was conspicuous and well defined on the bright back ground. He was stationary, standing back and his horse's head were both towards me. After erect in his stirrups, and twisted around, so that his repeating a shout, which I found was a call to a dog, he put his horse in motion, and advanced at a brisk trot. I was now in no hurry, and he soon overtook me. The mother of our hero, then, was one of two daughters, the only children of Mr. Raby, a man of great wealth. This wealth, however, consisted principally of property entailed on the possessor's male descend-to such termination as my path might lead to. At this ants, with remainder to a distant English relative. There proved to be no male issue-the wife dying in giving birth to her second daughter, the mother of our hero-and the widower refusing to marry again. Moreover, through scruples of conscience, he declined taking measures for docking the entail, and even when the revolution rendered it invalid, declared his children should not profit by such invalidation. "He accordingly executed a will devising the entailed property to the remainder-man; and this will, properly attested, he transmitted to him in England." Thus matters stood until the two daughters married, and the birth, in 1799, of a grandson, our hero, excited an interest in the heart of the old gentleman. He claimed the child from its mother, and informed the father that a new will had been made, devising the whole property to be divided into two equal parts-one part for the grandson, the other to be again divided between the two daughters. This will, he added, was in the hands of a confidential friend. The name of the friend was not mentioned, and delicacy forbade inquiry. This rencontre is of essential advantage to our hero. The stranger proves to be George Balcombe, also a protégé of old Mr. Raby's. Mr. N. accompanies him home, and discovers that he is well versed in the family affairs of the Rabys and Napiers; that he is acquainted with the matter of the will; that, with Montague, he was a witness to the instrument; and that Montague resides in the neighborhood. Balcombe believes that M. was the depositary spoken of by old Mr. Raby. Circumstances, also, induce him to think that the paper is still in existence, and in the possession of M. The train of events which have led to this conclusion-a train laid by Balcombe himself-serves admirably to develop his character. It appears that Edward Montague, an orphan protégé of Mr. Raby's, was the depositary of this instrument. Upon the death of the old gentleman he was applied to. Montague, it seems, was always, even when an open At first he disclaimed any knowledge of the paper; reprobate, superstitious; and, though a great liar, being on oath, however, he owned having once seen it, would at no time have sworn to a literal lie. In the but denied that he knew what had become of it. In interval between the death of Mr. Raby and the estabthe meantime the devisee under the former testament lishment of the first will, he became gloomy and serious, brought it forward, and, none other appearing, estab- and joined the church. Balcombe, who knew his chalished it. The elder Mr. Napier took no active mea- racter, could thus easily conceive how the villain might sures to recover the lost will, and, having inherited have deemed "the form of religion and literal truth a nothing from Mr. Raby, all of whose non-entailed pro- sufficient salvo for wronging the dead and plundering perty was involved, died just before the ruin of his the living by moral perjury." It was probable, he family became manifest. Upon our hero's coming of thought, that some plan had been devised, by means of age, therefore, he finds himself penniless. The action which Montague had spoken the literal truth when he of the novel grows out of his search for the missing will. swore in court that "he knew not what had become of In the opening of the narrative we are introduced to the will." The document had been handed to him by Napier in a prairie of Missouri. He is in pursuit of Mr. Raby in the presence of Balcombe, and a letter Montague, with the vague hope of extorting from him, received by the latter from the old gentleman, and writeither by force or guile, some information respecting ten just before his decease, a letter full of affection for his the document in question. As this beginning evinces grandson, was sufficient assurance that the testament had the hand of a master, we quote it. The abruptness never been revoked. At the probate of the will found, here is not without object. The attention is attracted Balcombe did not appear-being absent from the country at once and rivetted with skill. and not hearing of the death of Mr. Raby. Upon MonAt length, issuing from the wood, I entered a prairie, tague's coming, however, to live near him in Missouri, more beautiful than any I had yet seen. The surface, and coming in evidently improved circumstances, with gently undulating, presented innumerable swells, on plenty of money, and only affecting to practise law, he which the eye might rest with pleasure. Many of these immediately suspected the truth, and set on foot a syswere capped with clumps and groves of trees, thus in-tem of observation. One day, having need of eastern terrupting the dull uniformity which generally wearies the traveller in these vast expanses. I gazed around funds, he applied to a merchant for the purpose of purfor a moment with delight; but soon found leisure to chasing a bill on New York. The merchant furnished observe that my road had become alarmingly indistinct. one drawn by Montague on a house there, for the deIt is easy indeed, to follow the faintest trace through a sired amount, one thousand dollars, and, in the course prairie. The beaten track, however narrow, wears a of conversation, mentioned that M. drew regularly, at peculiar aspect, which makes it distinguishable even at a distance. But the name of Arlington, the place of the same time every year, on the same house, for the my destination, denoted at least a village; while the same sum. Here then was an annuity, and the questedious path which I was travelling seemed more like tion was-unde derivatur? |