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Show 468 Remarks Oil Various Late Poets, No. 5-L. E. L. [AuGUST, IlEMEMDRANCE. Ye "inrls lhal ~o mournfu!ly sigh 1hro' the grO\'e, Now munn'ring softly, now fading away, Revive in my heart th'swect mcm"ry of Love, Which charmed my young !Josom in youth's happy day. I remember, Amamla, how sweetly with thee, The hours of pleasure ha\'e hastened along: One smile from thy lips IJrought more joy to me, Than have all the rcn·ls of guiety's throng. I remember also how in yonder sweet grOYe, The birds carrolled blithely on each leafy spr:~y ; Their notes "ere the rapturous 1Jrca1hings of lo\·e, Whil·h bid us be happy and ehct•rful as they. Anrl well I remember each bright liulr ~cenc , Where thoughtless and h:~ppy in childhood I played, \Vhen smiling I ra111hled along the !Jrightgreen, Or thro' the lone woodland unconsciously strayed. Sweet home of my rhildhood, still dear to my soul, Long }'Cars lu11·e passed hy sim·e I parted from thee; Yet still as yea rs over me ce~1sclcssly roll,- More Jo,•ed anrl more cherished tl1y mem"ry shall l>c. But ~ometimes with joy, there's mingled a gloom, \Vhich checks mem'ry's Uhss, "ith the tear of to-d11y; As 'n the midst of sweet flowers oft 10011lders a tom hAs douds with their darkness will dim the sun's ray . Dear scenes of past joys! I thought not to leave Your peaceftll retreuts, o'er t],e cold world to roam, My heart had not then le;nned in sadness to griHe, Fr.r II II' fly from fond friends, and from thee, my loved home. his outward gayety and levity might hide it, Byron was at heart the proud, melancholy , sensitive being depicted in his powerful lines; Shelley was himself the ideal of tl1e imaginative, abstracted benevolence, which lies at the bollom of all his poetry. But it is not thus always. \Ve must sometimes consider the person as a separate identity from the poet, and Dr. Young was not more esse ntially the opposite of his gloomy meditations than l'rfiss Landon. \Vhilc the most distinguishing peculiarity of her writings is their mournful sweetness, the earnestness and beauty with which she g rieves O\'er the nothingness of life and its brig-In illusions; in herself, she was the most light~hearted and spi~ rited of women. In youth, a wild, untamed girl, spending alternate days romping with her brother and building castles in the air; as she grew o!Jcr, supporting herself and assisting a widowed mother by the ceaseless use of her pen; scorning the opinion of the world, gay a11d lively in society; altogether, she presents us wit!J the picture of a strongminded, high- spirited woman, having not one si ngle point in common with the willowy, gentle, and delicate being presented to our fanC)' by her writings. Democritus and Heraclitus may be taken as the types of herself and her pen. This need nut lead us into disbelief of her inspiration. Doubtless, the poet must feel before he can cause feeling in others, but the JHO\' inf!e of genius is essentially to create, and while under the estro, he may reason anfl think very differently from the opiuions and belief wlli ch sway him in saner mo- REI'\TARKS ON VARIOUS LATE POETS. ments. Thus, though he would not in general subscribe to what he records, yet he may merely be describ ing most vividly his actual sens~.Ltions at the time. This di!llcuhy of separating the individual from the author gave I\liss Landon much tmuble. Judging from her constant descriptinus of blighted love and deserted afi"ection, the pu bl ic very natur:1lly fancied that she must herself be the illcal heroine of her songs, and hence, at various times, a rose reports highly injurious to her, and which sen·ed to gil'e her the keenest pain. Her first match she broke nfi' in consequence of these rumors, and her sufi"erings infused a bitLerer tone in the melanclwly of her later poems. She makes frequent reference to it in a manner to sbow bow SPmper ego auditor tantnrn, nunquamne Tl.'[)Oilllm, Vuatus toties rauri Theseide Codri !-Jm•tmal NO.\' . L. E. L. " I soar not on such Iofly wtngs, My lute hal not so many strings, Its dower is Uut an humU!e dower, And I, who call upon its aid, My po"er is but 11 woman's po"er Of softness and of sadness made." Tile Golden Violet. After so long a course of fault-finding, as that much she felt it, thou gh her pride impelled her to through which we have compelled ourselves and avoid even the appearance of stooping to the world's our bene\·olent readers to wade, it is gratifying to opinion, There are many passages in her pof'ms take up a tl1eme where praise must so greatly picturing these feelings most vividly and bcautiovcrbalance censure. \Vc feel unspeakable relief fully. \Vesubjoin a few lines from" Erinna," one in escaping from the harsh and meaningless phi- of her best auernpts, in which she evidently is delosophy of !\'I iss Darrett, and the flat inanities of scribing the career of a poet, as typified by her own. Eliza Cook, to the wild, yet delicate inspiration which characterizes her who forms the suUject of the present article. Among those poets, whose theme is the human heart and human passions, it is freq uently difficult to separate the man from the writer. Howel'er "Anf! yet 'l d;trkcr lesson was to learn- The hollowness of each ; that praise which is But Uase ~-,;change of flattery; lhntiJl ame, Gi\'en by cautious coldness, which still deem9 'Tissafcst todeprPss; that mockery Flinging shafts but to show its own keen aim; 1845.) Remarks on Various Late Poets, No. 5-L. E. L. 469 That carelessness, whose very censure's chance; the Hospital, and, on arrh·ing at her place of des- And, worst of all, the earthly judgment, passed tination, she sal down and wrote off the poem, from Ry minds whose native clay is unredeemed wllich the abO\'C extracts are made, as fast as her By aught of heaven, whose every thought falls foul hand could move over the paper. ~~:~i~~~~~~;P:1~ ~~a~~~~~;~~~c:.:~~~~t:::~~ot feel, We would feel inclined to ascribe to 1\'liss Lan- 0 dream of fame, what hast thou been to me don a high plnce among English poets; perhlps as Gut the destroyer of life's calm content! high as can be assigned to a woman. One of the I feel so more than e•·rr, that thy sway charms of her poetry is, that it is essentially femi-h loosenc(\ o't"r me." nine; we can never imagine, n·hile reading it, that This seems to us evident! to come from the it is written Uy any other than a .wnman. _The bottom of the heart, and ·et i; is only by referring delicate ta~te,. the_ tact, the attentwn to mtnu~e to her )Crsonal history th;l we feel, in the slight- points, the mstght tnto fe.male charac_ter, the exqutest delree, enabled 10' judtTe whether her poetry is site delineations of a~ectton and p~sston, and, abo\:e naturai or assumed. This is a mi sfortu ne , for it all, the oversha~ow111g share whtch love bears m tends somew hat to weaken the effect which the her ~ales, all f01~t o(.u~l th~t tl::y p;oce~~ ;r?ma~ beauty and force of her writings !~ave on us, to ~~1!~1 ~1:/~.:il d;~~r1i~e~ ,~;;~:ff. tnes rom rmn tl1ink that what stri kes us so fot·ctbly, and.com- "I h'lve tolcl passionate tales of breaking hearts, Of young cheeks f;,ding even before the rose; My songs ha1·e been the mournful history Of woman's tenderness anrl woman's tears; J lnn·etouehed but the spirit.'sgentlestchord8,Surely the finest for my maiden hand;- And in their truth my immortality." pels us for the moment to convict.ion, is merely a factitious feeling, which the poet herself disbelie\ ·es, and which is laid down will1 the pen. Her poetic temperament enabled her so thoroughly to project herself into the character and situation which she describes, that she painted with equal streumh atJd distinctness, whether she really felt. the t;ulh of the sentiments, or merely adopted them And this, we think, is praise worth having for a to suit her momentary purpose. For instance, woman. \.Ye entertain small affection for the there is in her first volume a little poem called ' 1 St. Harriet Martineaus, the l\'lary \Volstonecrafts, anll George's Hospital," which seems to bear the im- other unsexed beings; press of reality. She is describing the inmates of _"Large brained women and large hearted men," the sir k~room. ''And there was one whose chePk Was flusloed with feve r-'twas a face that seemed F:unili11r to my memory; 'twas ono \Vhom I harlloverl in youth.- llut he was waywar~l, wilt!, And hopes that in his hear~'s warm summrr time Flourished, were quickly withered in the cold And dull rcalitic.l of life ;-he was Too proud, too visionary for this world; And feelings which, like waters un('onfincd, Had carried with them freshness ancl green beauty, T hrown !Jack upon themselves, spread desolation On their own !Jnnks. He WiiS a sacrifiee, And sank !Jcneath neglect; his glo" ing thoughts \-\'ere fires that preyed upon hirn~clf.- But his eyes he raised Mutely to mine-he knew my ··oiec again, A11d every ,-i~ion ol his boyhood rushed Over his soul; his lip was deadly p:tle, llut prido was yet upon its haughty curve; He raised one hand contCifliJluously anti Heemed As he would bid me mark his fullcn S11lc, And that it was unheeded. So he died, \Vithout one struggle, and his !Jrow in death \Yore its pale marble louk of cold defiant:'e." The vivid picture contained in these lines would certainly lead us tn consider them as founded in reality, and yet they are altogether the offspring of fancy. Miss Landon was riding with a party of friends, and, white passing St. George's Hospital, she happened to ask one of them for a subject on which to compose a poem. He suggested as Miss Barrett, a kindred spirit, elegantly observes concerning George Sand. No! Miss Landon's theme is, as she observes, the llistory of the heart, and she has presented us with many charming pictures of woman's love, and hope, and constancy; eloquent descriptions of the progress of passion and affection in every phase and every form _; powerful and touching delineations of the wrongs and injuries which bow down and break the young and enthusiastic heart, when it springs forth to meet the world and is repelled or deceived. A whole volume of poetry of the affections and of the passions might be culled from her writings, and therein would be found pasSatTeS which it would be difficult to excel by any one similar su~jects from poets of any age. Here is a beautiful si mile, which possesses originality,no mean virtue in lhese days, when the field of metaphor has been so often ploughed up. "There is a flower, a snow-white flower, Fr ~gilc as if a morning shower Wouldendits!Jeing,and thee:trth Forget to what it gave a Uinh; And it looks innocent and pale, Slight, ~s the least force could avait To pluck it from its ln:d,nnd yet Jts root in strength an1l depth is set. TheJulysun,theAutumn rain Bt'atonitstcnJcrstalkin,•ain;Around it spreads, despite of care, Till the whole garden is its share |
