Boom OF VEasa—When we say that we have here eighteen
volumes of verse, and that not more than two or three of them would bear a separate notice, our readers will not be surprised at the occasional savageness of our expressions. One volume of meaningless jingle may be borne, one mediocrity may be treated with forbearance, but eighteen volumes are too much for the most patient of men. We have done our best to read them ; we have read some of them to the end ; in others we have reached the middle. But the result is weariness and vexation of spirit, whence there proceeds only one good suggestion. It would probably cure any one of the tribe of poetlings, if he had to read the works of his brothers. Might we not fence the profession of poetry, as every branch of the Civil Service is protected, by a com- petitive examination, and make each new poet review the verses of the year before he was allowed to add to the number ? Then, when he found that nine men out of ten could spin platitudes with equal facility, and could clothe them with the appearance of metre, he would probably ask himself if it was likely that any flies would be caught in his web. To begin with the largest book on our list, Tragic Dramas from History, by Robert Buchanan, 2 vols. (Edmonton and Douglas). We need not say that this author is not the Robert Buchanan ; it may not be irreverent to observe that he has taken that name—in vain. Still, we should be glad to know what are his motives for publishing two thick volumes, containing 678 pages in all, and nothing besides 678 pages. There are five dramas of the orthodox type and some shorter pieces, but the dramas seem to us mere dialogue, cut up into lengths, and headed by the names of historical persons. Of the shorter pieces the most significant is that written on destroying by fire a large mass of manu- script papers. We have no wish to be unkind to Mr. Buchanan, and we therefore abstain from drawing the inference. But we will commend to his notice another drama on our list, the Duke's Daughter, a classic tragedy (Triihner), which has at all events the advantage of being decided rubbish. If Mr. Buchanan will read it, he will be suffi- ciently punished for his own—we cannot say shortcomings. In the Quest of the Sancgreall, and other Poems, by T. Westwood (J. R. Smith), we have the nearest approach to poetry on our list. It is not Mr. Westwood's least merit that he should have treated such a subject without the faintest imitation of Tennyson. Yet this is not his only merit. His book is one of the few that are entitled to a separate notice, and that claim an apology for being classed with the works of the small poets, on whom Mr. Westwood himself is the most severe. But though
be shines out in comparison with them, there is a want of anything definite that we can take hold of, a want of decided power. We are
pleased as we read, but if we look back it is rather with a view of ascertaining what it was that pleased us than in search of aught that we remember. And this is not enough for poetry, though it may answer in other branches of literature. Axel, and other Poems, by Henry Lock- wood (Longmans), are translated from the Swedish, chiefly from Tegner. Without knowing the original, we must speak well of Mr. Lockwood's efforts. His verse runs with case and spirit, and the poems them- selves are worthy of the versification. Mr. Brodie's Translations from the Lyrics of Horace (Smith and Elder) do not stand in the same position. After the excellent remarks made in the preface we are disappointed with the work itself, and we feel that one who can criticize so well as Mr. Brodie must be still more conscious of his failure. Some of his metres are well chosen, as, for instance, that of the eigh- teenth ode in the second book. But his single lines are often weak, and some of his odes, the " Pyrrha," for instance, fall far short of the standard reached by other translators. Mr. Charles Warren Stoddard's Poems (Triibner), come to us from San Francisco, and are in some sense faint echoes of Tennyson from the far West. But there is a fresh and genu- ine love of nature in them, and the author strives earnestly to reproduce his feeling. By the Brook is the name of a piece which has some pretty touches. Wayside Warblings, by F. Louis Jagnerod de l'Isle (Bos- worth), are the work of a foreigner, but they are smoother than many of the native productions we have before us, and contain quite as much meaning. Still, we must observe that the lines at page 33 are a mere amplification of one stanza of Gray, and those at p. 175 spin out four lines of Pope into seventeen. Songs and Verses Social and Scientific, by an old contributor to Maga (Blackwood), are humorous poems, which made something of a hit in their time. The " Origin of Species," the " Origin of Language," " Grimm's Law," and the "Permissive Bill" furnish the best subjects, and are treated with some dash and humour. The linos about tho "Origin of the Elephant," according to Darwin's theory, are a good sample of the style of the book :—
" A very tall pig with a very long nose Sends forth a proboscis quite down to his toes, And he then by the name of an Elephant goes."
An attempt to revive the charm of Burns gives some interest to Ml.; Young's Poems and Lyrics, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect (Glasgow, Gallic). The preface, too, is touching in the extreme. We hope the sale of the volume will answer its author's expectations. Lays of a Heart, by G. Wade Robinson (Houlaton and Wright), do not call for much remark. The first piece has some fair lines in it, and renders well the effect of despondency. Of the second piece we will only say that the author has done honestly in Baying that it is after the Two Voices. Abel Holt and other Poems, by George Anster (A. W. Bennett), may be taken as the production of a working-man. The references to strikes, and to the war between labour and capital, are timely and interesting. The books which now remain on our list are almost beneath our notice. The Progress of Life, by William Leech (Longmans) is an academia work in the style of Pope, and has no doubt been inspired by the Essay on Man and the Dnnciad. The Solitary, by Richard Yates Sturges (Edinburgh, Nichol) is not likely to be enlivened by the company of a reader. There is nothing to bo said of the Bookkeeper, by Mercator (Montreal, Dawson Brothers). Ashton Hall, by A. M. (A.. W. Bennett), is a tale in the metro of Scott, which contains nothing, and apparently might go on for ever. Poems, by John Hutcheson Millar (Paisley, Gardner), are trifling. Cordis Cantiunculce, by a Clergyman of the Estab- lished Church (F. B. Kitto), are twaddle.
Previous page
