LOUD ROBERTSON'S GLEAMS OF THOUGHT AND OTHER POEMS.

IN his preface Lord RobertsOn admits that the present volume cannot hope to be received with the "indulgence so freely bestowed on his first essay.' Leaves from a Journal came before the world as the attempt of an amateur ; Gleams of Thought may be scrutinized as that of a profes- sional poet. " I feel," says the author, in poetical prose, " that the freshness of the morning has passed away—the glittering of the dew is gone—the zest of novelty is over ; and though the first visit was wel- comed with unwonted courtesy, no willow branch waveth me ' to come again to Carthage.'" There is something in this; but Lord Robertson's effusions will better reward reading, and are more entitled to challenge criticism, than most of the books of verses that are published. It is probable, indeed, that Lord Robertson might have attained con- siderable excellence in poetry, had he devoted himself to it with that singleness of purpose which is necessary to excel in a business, much more in the divine art. The general character of the present volume is not deficiency of poetical spirit, but of the skill requisite to shape and develop it. The feeling is always poetical, the imagery frequently so, and occasionally there is a true poetical felicity of expression ; but, considered strictly, very few of the pieces can be pronounced poems. The subjects are often fragmentary, and as often commonplaces—of the educated man indeed, but still commonplaces. Their treatment is obvious to the scholar; and often wants both the original thoughts and the comprehensive pene- tration that distinguish the poet. Perhaps it is a still greater de- ficiency that they do not embrace the whole subject or satisfy the reader. In short, they are the leisure effusions of a poetical and accomplished mind, rather than the productions of a poet. It is probable that the professional habit of ready speech and of writing with a running pen may militate against Lord Robertson, by rendering him impatient of that " labor lime " which the express directions of some great poets and the practice of all show to be essential to the art.

The contents of the volume are miscellaneous ; but the title, Gleams of Thought, is derived from a sort of paraphrase of passages in Milton's prose works. Admiring, though by no means undiscerningly, the little- read controversial works of the great epic poet, Lord Robertson has ver- sified such passages as made _the deepest impression upon him : and, though by no means the best specimens in the volume, they are exceed- ingly curious as studies. There is Miltonic tone about them, with the poetic feeling which is rarely absent from Lord Robertson's writing; the process of versification seems to have had the effects generaly at- tributed to translation. The rugged sternness and biting sarcasm of the original are softened down into a conventional elegance; the life and the application to contemporary events have evaporated. Whatever objec- tions may be made to Milton's prose, it is animated by a spirit as vital as his poetry; but eloqUence, imagery, passion, are all subservient to the particular cause he had in hand. His digressions and returns have all the art and aptness which criticism requires from the lyric poet; they are inseparable parts of the subject : bursts of indignation, or sarcasm, or exhortation, have logic ever lurking at the bottom. The arguments are comprehensive, but they are not general—all belongs to the age of Charles the First, of the Prelatist and the Puritan. These qualities escape in the versified paraphrase ; which is so abstract as sometimes to have little resemblance to the meaning and no bearing upon the objects of Milton. Thus, in the treatise "Of Reformation in England," Milton argues from antiquity against the Romanists and Prelatists (High Church- men) on the question of authority; and then proceeds to the religious and moral evils that flow from their elevating the priesthood above the laity. " The people of God, redeemed and washed with Christ's blood, and dignified with so many glorious titles of saints and sons in the Gospel, are now no better reputed than impure ethnics and lay dogs; stones, and pillars, and crucifixes, have now the honour and the elms due to Christ's living members; the table of communion, now become a table of separation, stands like an exalted platform upon the brow of the quire, fortified with bulwark and barricade, to keep off the profane touch of the lilies, whilst the obscene and surfeited priest scruples not to paw and mammoc the sacramental bread as familiarly as his tavern biscuit. And *ES the people, vilified and rejected by them, give over the earnest study of vir- tue and godliness, as a thing of greater purity than they need, and the search of divine knowledge as a mystery too high for their capacities, nod only for church- men to meddle with; which is what the Prelates desire, that when they have brought us back to. Popish blindness, we might commit to their dispose the whole managing of our salvation; for they think it was never fair world with them since that time. But he that will mould a modern bishop into a primitive, must yield him to be elected by the popular voice, undiocesed, unrevenued, unlorded, and leave him nothing but brotherly equality, matchlins temperance, frequent fasting, incessant prayer and preaching, continual watchings and labours in his ministry; which what a rich booty it would be, what a plump endowment to the many-benefice-gaping mouth of a prelate, what a relish it would give to his canary-sucking and swan-eating palate, let old Bishop Mountain judge for me."

See now how curiously this pictured logic is altered into modern refine- ment.

" Yon pillar, carved stone, and crucifix,

Stand in the sacred edifice erect !

Such at the altar's seat keep hollow sway. The table of the Lord's communion pure A place of separation cold become, Like an exalted platform on the brow Of the proud quire, with barricade strong And bulwark fenced, against the touch to guard Of laic hand profane, when holy bread, In sacramental purity prepared, Is paw'd sod mammock'd by the bloated priest In rude familiar intercourse obscene, As of his orgy the accustom 'd cates.

"Rejected thus and vilified, the crowd, As 'twere a boon too pure for them to seek,— A mystery too dark for vulgar ken,

Fit only for the cowl'd philosopher,— Leave virtue, godliness, and truth divine, Without remorse unpractised and unites:did;

And thus in Popish blindnessthe desire

Of Prelate haltreform'd is still to lead His superstitious flock; dispenser sole Of their salvation, as his right usurp. So erst the Christian world the thrall was held Of sordid Roman sway pontifical.

The purer infancy of faith forgot A priesthood train'd in sweet simplicity;

When in their brotherly equality, By frequent fast and matchless temperance, Preaching and watching, and incessant pray'r, By labour in their holy ministry, As sole distinctions sought, the bishops walk'd In meekness, on their work of love intent.

No gaping pluralist plumply endow'd With the rich booty of enforced tithe, His loathed service rendeed them unsought; But by the people's voice—their own pure life Chosen to rule,—lordless, revenneless, Undioces'd, and yet with faith enrich'd Thro' persecution followed steadily, And in their placid purity revered, Dwelt 'midst their flock the holy brotherhood!"

There are many more favourable examples of Lord Robertson's powers

than this : and we may say generally, that he succeeds better where he chooses a subject and treats it from himself, than where he takes a prose theme to versify ; as is again the case in "Etchings of the East," some paraphrases from Mr. Warburton's Crescent and Cross. He succeeds better still where the subject is drawn from nature rather than from history or art. There is a good deal of fancy, airiness, and grace, in these verses on the Wind.

"The Wind I love: demand'at thou why? 'Tis the first-born of Liberty; Among its wanderings ever free, Still changeless 'mid inconstancy.

The lakes and rivers ice may bind,—

Nought e'er shall stay the buxom wind: When thunder's pent within the cloud, The lawless breeze is piping loud; The rocks restrain the raging sea, The stars revolve in harmony, The rolling tides the moon obey: The wind sings ceaseless roundelay.

"In spring it whistleth in the brake,

Stirreth the reeds that gird the lake;

Holdeth soft dalliance 'mong the flowers

That blossom in the summer hours; In autumn roareth with the flood, With sere leaf sporteth in the wood; O'er all the storms of winter she Holdeth resistless mastery.

"Up with the lark before the morn, On noonday wing how gently borne; Closeth the evening with delight, Or maketh moan the livelong night. Greeteth the aspen in the calm On honey'd blossom breathing balm. • • "It reateth not, it will not stay, The wind bath ever holiday: Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring— One universal carolling.

Hope welcometh the morning breeze' • Love courts its whisper 'mong the trees; Fond Music hails its advent near; From the rude blast, lo sbrinketh Fear: What master ere so kind, so wild, As Nature's free, her wayward child? Tis thus I love the Wind, for I A lover am of Liberty."