Aspromonte, and other Poems. (Macmillan.)—We may say of the author
what Juvenal said of himself, "fitcit indignatio versus." "These poems," he tells us, "were written several years ago between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two," that is, at a time when the cause of Italy had stirred the hearts of our young men as they had not been stirred before in this gene- ration. The verses which a man of culture writes when the enthusiasm of a great subject holds him, and a subject, too, that is traditionally poetical,
are not easily distinguished from poetry. We are not sure indeed that our author is not a poet. There are passages on subjects outside the range of the Italian enthusiasm which seem to show that, at the least, he might be ene, if we may say so much in the face of the old proverb. Such passages we see in "Arctic Christmas," and especially in "The Indian Summer," which is highly finished both in melody and in expression. But the "Poems for Italy" are the substance of the book, and of these "The Execution of Felice Orsini" is undoubtedly the most striking and powerful. It has rhetoric, picturesque power and passion, and the verse, though it has not much melody or even strength, is fluent and free. But criticisms which we have not the space to justify by quotations are not satisfactory, and we prefer to let our readers judge for themselves by an extract which may, at the same time, serve to justify the choice of a subject :—
Nor law nor priest has might To give unerring light Whereby to read aright His just award: no doubt Murder is deadly sin; Yet there was therein Nothing for him to win
Save what is here;—
And as it draws so near, Terrible and clear,
Does it not strange appear
That one of high estate, So gifted and so great, Without constraint or call, Should have forsaken all Honoued, and sweet, and dear, With purpose firm to go To shame, and death, and woe, And none to thank or cheer ? Has he not given his name Unto reproach and shame, Good men's sorrow, proud men's blame; From history to claim Only a murderer's fame ?
Yea; has he not besides,
In a whole people's cause,
At his own cost defied Divine and human laws; The guilt of Innocent blood For ever on his head, To stand before his God, His hands yet reeking red?
Strange mystery, any heart Could choose such awful part!
Was it madness? who can tell?
Or was it something else We know not of? Ah! well, What is it stronger than fear, Stronger than Death and Hell ?"
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