deed,

far less despair. The vaticination of our | It matters not, so as God's work is done. hearts tells us that, apart altogether from I've learn'd to prize the quiet lightning comparative awards and successes, there Not the applauding thunder at its heels, are noble fields before Alexander Smith, Which men call Fame." and that his own words shall not fail of fulfilment:

Note. Since this was written, Mr Smith, in conjunction with Mr Dobell, has issued a

"I will go forth 'mong men, not mail'd in small volume of War-Sonnets, two-thirds of

which are very mediocre, and one-third of which is excellent. Neither of them, however, answers our idea of a great war-poet. We are yet looking for the Tyrtæus of the Crimean struggle.

J. STANYAN BIGG.*

THERE are, every tyro in criticism knows, the latter are tasted slowly, and in drops three great schools or varieties in Poetry are studied-are carried into solitude -the objective, the subjective, and the -are read by the sides of lonely rivers, combination of the two. The best speci- or on silent mountain-tops, and ultimatemens of the first class are to be found in ly surround the young aspirants with an Homer's "Iliad" and "Odyssey," in Burns's atmosphere which goes with them where poems, and in Scott's rhymed romances; they go, rests with them where they rest, of the second, in the poetry of Lucretius, and hovers over their pens when they Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats, Shelley, write. To the charm of these poets, it and some of the Germans; and of the adds mightily that they are said to be, combination of the two, in Shakspere, and are, more or less heterodox in their Milton, Schiller, and Byron. Of late, al- creeds. This gives a peculiar gusto to most all our poets of much mark have be- their works, the reading of which becomes taken themselves to the subjective. We a sweet and secret sin, smacking of the propose, ere coming to Mr Bigg, first, in- taste of the "stolen waters and the quiring into the causes of this; and, se- "pleasant bread." Thus are two luxuries condly, urging our young poets, by a few-that of the indulgence of daring thought, arguments, to intermix a larger amount of and something resembling contraband dethe objective with their poetry. sire-united in the perusal of our later

One cause of the propensity of our ris-subjective poets. ing race of poets to the subjective, has Secondly, we live in a period of deep undoubtedly been the force of example. thoughtfulness, and great intellectual The poets who are at present acting with most power on the young mind of the age are intensely subjective, and some of them to the brink of morbidity. The influence wielded over the lovers of poetry by Homer, Scott, or Burns, is slender, compared to that which Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley, Coleridge, and the rest of the bardic brotherhood-the sons of Mist by Thunder are exerting. The writings of the former are devoured like new novels, and then thrown aside. The writings of

*“Night and the Soul:" a Dramatic Poem.

doubt. Never were there so many thinking. Never was thought so much at sea. Never were there so many "searchings of heart." Our blessed Lord mentions, as one of the most striking signs of his Second Advent-"perplexity." "And there shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity-the sea and the waves roaring!" This sign is around us, even at the doors. The political and the moral, the intellectual and the religious worlds, are all equally perplexed, and in darkness. It is a midnight,

gasus from galaxy to galaxy; and are now entering the heaven of heavens, and now listening to the sound of the surge of penal fire, breaking on the "murk and haggard rocks” of that "other place.”

moaning, weltering ocean, on which we are the gifted youth of the past were singall embarked, and the day-star has not yet ing of their Helens or their Marys-aposrisen. Our poetical spirits are sharing, to trophising their spaniels and robin-reda very large extent, in this perplexity; breasts, or describing the outward forms of and this has led to incessant introspective sky and earth around their native village, views and pensive contemplations. After their successors in the present are singing Byron, there rose a short-lived race of of the mysterious relations of nature to rhymsters, who pretended to scepticism the human soul; are galloping their Peand gloom, but whose real object was to produce a stimulating effect upon the minds of their readers; and who, like quack doctors, distributed drugs to others, of which they themselves never tasted a drop. It is very different now. A real Now, we are far from seeking to deny yearning uncertainty and thirst after more that this is, on the whole, what it should light are now heard crying, if not shriek- be, as well as what, inevitably, it must ing, in many of our poets. All recent have been. It were as vain altogether to poems of mark, such as the "Life Drama," condemn, as at all to try to resist, the Balder," "Festus," and "Night and the stream of an age-tendency. Nay, this Soul," are more or less filled with those state of things has some advantages, and thoughts which wander through eternity; teems with some promise. It proves that those beatings of strong souls against the the minds of men are becoming more bars of their earthly prison-house; those serious and thoughtful, when even our profound questions uplifted to heaven-youths of genius are less poets than "Whence evil? What the nature of man, preachers. It shows that we are living and what his future destiny? What, who, in a more earnest period. It proves proand where is God?" True poets must gress, since our very youth have passed sympathise with the tendency of their points where the mature manhood of the times, and as that, at present, is transitional, uncertain, and uneasy, their poetry must partake, in some measure, of that uncertainty and that unrest.

past thought it prudent and necessary to halt. It suggests hope, that in a future age there may be still higher, quicker, and more certain and solid advancement. In connection with this, is the pre- But, looking at the matter on the other valent study of the transcendental philo- side, the exclusively subjective cast of sophy by our poets. It was long imagined much of our best poetry has produced that poetry and philosophy were incom- certain evils. In the first place, it has patible that no poet could be a philoso- tended to overcast the renown of our pher, and that no philosopher could be a great objective poets, particularly among poet. What God had often joined, man the young. Homer, Scott, Campbell, and put asunder. It has, however, been for Burns, are still, indeed, popular, but not some time surmised that critics were in so much, we think, as they were, and are this wrong. The fact that Milton was read rather for their mere interest, than thoroughly conversant with the philoso- for their artistic and poetic excellence. phies of his day, and the example set by Relished by many they still are, as sweet the German poets, and by the Lakers, morsels; but seldom, if at all, studied as who combined ardent poetic enthusiasm models. Secondly, it, on the other hand, with diligent and deep study of metaphy-excludes our really good poets of the subsics, have rectified opinion on this point, jective school from many circles of readers, and sent our young poets to their Kants, who, seeking for some objective interest their Fichtes, and their Hamiltons, as well as to their Shaksperes and their Goethes. From these and other causes, it has come about, that at an age when

in poems, and finding little or none, are tempted to close them in weariness, or fling them away in disgust. Thomson, Cowper, Byron, as well as Shakspere and

Milton, addressed themselves to all classes ence, or with only that of a few superior minds in view, he almost inevitably falls into peculiarities of thought, and idiosyncrasies of language, which suit only an

of minds, except the very lowest, and succeeded in fascinating all. Browning, and many besides, speak only to the higher minds, and verily they have their reward; esoteric class of readers, and will often their works are pronounced unintelli- baffle even them. If a poet only seek to gible and uninteresting by the majority move himself," leaving it, as beneath of readers, and while loudly praised, are him, to the "orator" to "move others," little read. How different it had been, if the consequence will be fatal, not only to these gifted men had wreathed their mar- his popularity, but to his genuine power. vellous profusion of thought and imagery He will move nobody but himself. Look round some striking story, or made it sub- again to Browning's poetry: a wonderful servient to some well-constructed plot! thing it is, in many points and parts; but, The "Paradise Lost" and the "Pilgrim's as a whole, it is a book of puzzles-a vast Progress are devoured by millions for enigma-a tissue of hopeless obscurity in their fable, who are altogether inca- thought, and of perplexed, barbarous, afpable of understanding their interior fected jargon in language. The same is meaning, or perceiving their more recon- true with much of Emerson's volume of dite beauties. "Prometheus Unbound," poems. It is easy for these authors to and "Paracelsus," are read with pleasure accuse the reader of being dull in comby the more enthusiastic, but are caviare, prehension. The reader thinks he has a not only to the general reader, but to greater right to retort the charge of dulmany thousands who love poetry with a ness upon the author. Where fire is, it passion. Tennyson, on the other hand, shines; where a star is, it beams: the with all his subtlety and refinement, sel- differentia of light is to be seen. But dom forgets to throw in such touches of the density of much of our modern poetry nature, and little fragments of narrative, is "dark as was Chaos, ere the infant Sun as secure a kindly reception for his poems, was rolled together, or had tried his beams at once with the severest of critics, and the across the gulf profound." It is amusing least astute of schoolboys. Why should to watch the foolish faces put on by the poets be read only by poets, or by phi- admirers of this kind of rhymed riddles losophical critics? We think that every or blank-verse conundrums, when even good poem should be constructed on the they are unable to make out the meansame model with a good sermon, in which ing of some portentous passage, through the preacher, if a sensible man, takes care which not a ray of light has been perthat there shall be at once milk for babes, mitted to shine, and from which gramand strong meat for them that are of full mar and sense have been alike divorced; age; or upon the model of that blessed and to hear their mumbled apologies to book, the Bible, which contains often in the effect, "Depend on it, there are sunthe same chapter the grandest poetry and beams in this cucumber, provided we were the simplest pathos; here, "words unut- able to extract them!" terable," which seem to have dropped from the very lips of the heavenly oracle, and there, little sentences, which appear made for the mouths of babes and sucklings; here, "deeps where an elephant may swim; and there, shallows where a lamb may wade!"

Thirdly, this systematic subjectivism is almost certain to produce systematic obscurity and methodical mysticism. If an original writer sit down to compose poetry, either without the thought of any audi

Another evil is the increase of a false, pretentious, and pseudo-philosophic style of criticism, which, by being constantly exercised upon mystic or super-subtle poetry, becomes altogether incapable of appreciating any other, and often finds subjective meanings, where the objective alone was intended by the poet. The great master of this art abroad is Ulrici, whose "Midsummer Night's Dream" of Shakspere passes with many for a piece of profound and unmatched analysis. Speci

mens of the class are rife at home, and we characters in history waiting for treatdeplore the increase amongst us of a style ment; panting, shall we say, for that inof criticism, which seeks to illustrate the carnation which genius only can give. ignotum by the ignotius, as though mid- We point at present to one, a gigantic night could add illumination to mist. one to Danton. Which of our young What, then, is it asked, do we propose poets, our Smiths, Masseys, Biggs, and that our poets should do? Should they, Yendyses, shall win a crown of immortal as Professor Blackie in his Stirling speech fame, by writing a rugged historical drama, seems to think, abandon subjective song after the old "Julius Cæsar" or "Richard altogether; and, burning their Words- the Third" fashion, developing the chaworth and Shelley, betake themselves to racter, and casting the proper glare of ballad-poetry, Homer, Scott, and Mac- grandeur on the death of that wild wonaulay's "Lays of Ancient Rome?" By drous Titan of the French Revolution? no means. This is not a legitimate con- "Danton," said Scott, long ago, "is a clusion from what we have now said. subject fit for the treatment of Shakspere There remains a more excellent way. The or Schiller." third and best style, combining the direct After all the deductions and exceptions dealing, the definite plan, and the clear implied in the foregoing remarks, we canpurpose, the interest and the simpler style not but express our delight at the fine of objective poetry, with the depth, the flush of genuine poetry which the last thoughtfulness, the catholicity, and the few years have witnessed alike in England, universal references of subjective, should Ireland, and Scotland. In a MS. volume, be attempted by our rising bards. They we find some sentences written by us in need not be at a loss either for models the year 1835, when we were newly of or subjects. All Shakspere may become age, which we transcribe, because they their exemplar. Let them look especi- express anticipations which have been of ally to his "Macbeth," "Hamlet," "Lear," late signally fulfilled. "It is objected, and "Timon," and notice how, in these 'People will not now-a-days read poetry." masterpieces of his genius, he has united True, they will not read what is called the subtlest reflection and loftiest ima- poetry. They will not read tenth-rate gination, to the liveliest interest and the imitations of Byron. They will not read warmest human feeling. How clear he nursery themes for which a schoolboy is, too, amid all his depth; how direct would be flogged. They will not read amid all his passion; and how masculine respectable commonplace. They will not amid all his subtlety, not to speak of the read even the study-sweepings of reputed infinite variety produced by his inter- men, who imagine, in their complacency, change of the gay with the grave-of the that the universe is agape for the rinsings comic with the tragic elements. Or let of their genius. But neither will people, them study not Shelley's "Prometheus," if they can help it, eat raw turnips, or but his "Cenei;" and take not the mon- drink ditch - water, nor have willingly strosity of the story, but the manhood done so, from the flood downwards, to of the style, for their model. Or let our knowledge. But people would read them read "Wallenstein," and the other real poetry, were it given them. Indeed, great dramas of Schiller. Or let them an outcry about the decline of poetry is consult Byron himself, and see how, in sure, sooner or later, to provoke a re-acManfred," in "Sardanapalus," and in tion. It will, indeed, encourage an en"Cain," he has combined the deepest terprising spirit. The field,' he will thought he was capable of, and admi- say, 'lies clear, or is peopled only by rable artistic management of style and Lilliputians, supplicating to be spit upon character, with vividness of individual rather than neglected. Why should not portraiture and intensity of interest. As I enter on it?' The age is now awake. to subjects, they are inexhaustible, as The slightest symptoms of original power long as there are so many passages and are now recognised. And we often figure

VOL. I.-B

to ourselves the rapture with which a great poet, writing in the spirit of his age, would now be welcomed by an age whose manuals are already Wordsworth and Goethe."

tween nature and the mind of man. And his hope in the destiny of humanity is founded on Christian grounds. These are his main merits. We shall, ere we have done, notice what seem his defects.

No mean place among our rising poets First, Mr Bigg's imagery is uncommust be allowed to J. Stanyan Bigg, who monly varied and bold. None of his fihas once more challenged interest for the gures are so striking, or so highly wrought, lake country of Cumberland, on account as some in the "Life Drama," but there of the poetic genius it still inspires and is a greater abundance and variety of fosters. He was born, we believe, at them. The nature of his theme ("Night") least he now resides, in Ulverston. He leads him to select many from the scenhas, we understand, published some time ery of that season-its stars, its wailing ago a juvenile volume of poems, but winds, the many mysterious sights and this we have not seen. Part of his pre-sounds which haunt its solitudes. But, sent work appeared, like Smith's "Life besides these, he gathers analogies from Drama," piecemeal in "The Critic;" and a thousand other regions, and skirts his the Groombridges have now placed the Night with a bright border of Daylight whole before us, in the shape of this imagery. Here, for instance, are some handsome, portable, and well-printed vo-sweet and soothing figures:—

lume.

"Bless them, and bless the world. Oh may
it rest

In peace upon thy bosom, like a ship
On the unrippled silver of the sea,
Or like a green tree in the circling blue
Of the bright joyousness of summer-morns."

Here, again, is a rich Arabian-Night kind of fancy:

Mr Bigg-although classable in strict logic and method with the school of Bailey, and although bearing certain marked resemblances to Alexander Smith -is yet distinctively original; being less mystical than Festus, less sensuous than Smith-more humane and more Christian, we think, than either. He shines not so much in outstanding passages of intense brilliance, or in single thoughts of great depth, as in a certain rich pervasive spirit of poetry, in which (to use the word applied to it by a generous rivalbard) all his verses are "soaked." His poetry has not yet gathered into firm sunlike shape, but rather resembles what Dr Whewell in his "Plurality of Worlds" supposes many of the stars still to be-sage containing, in the space of a few lines, fiery matter unconsolidated, and having from each other: three figures, all good, and all so diverse

hitherto cast off no worlds. Yet the light and the fire are genuine, and may be expected, in due time, to bring forth results both useful and splendid. We seem to perceive the following peculiarities, besides, in Mr Bigg's poetry: His imagery is remarkable for its boldness and variety. He has exhibited an equal appreciation of the beautiful and the sublime. He has that noble rush of thought and language which is so characteristic of genuine inspiration. He has a keen perception of the analogies subsisting be

"Thou speakest in soul-pictures, yet I see Thy meaning rising through them, free and As a young princeling from the grand statesimple

bed,

Where his white limbs have been enswathed all night

In gold and velvets."

As a proof of his variety, we give a pas