RECENT VERSE.*

WE congratulate Mr. Hardy on the completion of what, with all its strangeness and imperfections, is a very remarkable- poem. Four years ago, when the first part appeared, we- stated very frankly the objections on the score of art both to the form Mr. Hardy had chosen and to his method of treat- ment. We complained of the angularity of the verse, the- hard determinism of the philosophy, and the almost comic presentment of the choruses of spirits. We thought that the- unities had been too completely disregarded, with the result that the reader received no clear dramatic impression, and the, beauties were episodic. To many of these criticisms, especially- * (1) The Dynasts: a Drama of the Napoleonic Wars. By Thomas Hardy. Part M. London : Macmillan and Co. [4s. 6d. net.]—(2) Interludes and: Poems. By Lascelles Abercrombie. London: John Lane. [5s. net.]—(3) The. Dark Ages, and other Poems. By "L." London : Longmans and Co.. [2s. 6d. net.]—(4) Dominions of the Boundary. By Bernard O'Dowd. Mel- bourne T. C. Lothian.—(5) Wild Honey from Various Thyme. By Michael Field. London : T. Fisher Unwin. [5s. net.J—(6) Stray- Stanzas. By Katherine Mann. Glasgow : J. MacLehose and Sons. [2s. 6d. net.]—(7) A Garland of Lyrics. By Maria Steuart. London : A. H. Bullen. [2e, &I. net.]—(8) Songs and Poems. By T. H. T. Case. London : D. Nutt. [1s.)—(9) Judas. By Harold Monro. Cmnleigh Samurai Press. [2s. net]. —(10) The Vigil of Brunhild. By Frederic Manning. London : John- Murray. [2s. 6d. net.]—(11) The Sorrowful Princess. By Eva Gore-Booth. London : Longman and Co. [2s. 6d. net.]—(12) Two Dramas and One Song. By Nelson Gardner. New York : Friedman.—(13) The Coming Dawn, and- other Poems. By Lady Arabella Hominy. London : Hutchinson and Co.. [6s. net.]—(14) Poems. By Elise Eleanor Gurney. London : Longmans =do Co. [2s. 6d. net.]—(15) Lays of West Africa. By Alan. Field. London r G. Philip and Son. [IL]

those on the score of form, we adhere ; but the subsequent volumes have led us to revise our judgment on one important point. We wrote in 1904 that Mr. Hardy's reach seemed to exceed his grasp. After laying down the last volume we admit that we were wrong. Taking the completed poem, we feel 'that the poet has attained unity, and that the dramatic quality .of the whole is his great achievement. It is a strange, unearthly drama which unrols for us Europe like a map, and shows us Kings and peasants moving like automata at the guidance of the Immanent Will, which spreads like a vast tissue 'through the brains of the protagonists. In this latest part the great story moves fast to its close. The action is more closely knit, and the sense of destiny comes, not from the comments 'of the spirits, but from the words and deeds of the actors. There are scenes of the most poignant and arresting drama. To -name only a few : the fall of the first snowflake at 'Smolensk ; the finding of the dead French by Kutlizof ; Napoleon at Leipzig, "idly singing then" ; the horrible dumb- show of the invasion of France ; the death of Josephine ; the Waterloo ball; the scene among the camp-followers at Mont Saint-Jean, especially the servant's account of Picton's death; the whole picture of Waterloo ; the last soliloquy of Napoleon,— these are poetry of the highest order. We know no such study in literature of Napoleon's character, no such vivid and haunting picture of a great battle. The minor figures are carefully studied. As was to be expected, Mr. Hardy's common soldiers are English peasants with the rough accent of life. The spirits still trouble us a little. Their style is apt to be unsuitable, as when they chant a rondeau after Sala- manca, and at Leipzig sing a jaunty ditty with phrases in it like

"Poland's three despoilers primed by Bull's bold pay."

Some of the songs, however, seem to us the best lyrics Mr. Hardy has written. The Chorus of the Years sings a Blake- like song after Liguy, and the last chorus of all succeeds in wedding metaphysics to lovely music. The "Mad Soldier's .Song" in the retreat from Moscow haunts the memory like a -catch in Shakespeare. The philosophy, too, has taken a. happier colouring. A hope of ultimate good relieves the fatalism of the early scenes, and the Pities speak the last word :--

"Yet is it but Napoleon who has failed.

The pale pathetic peoples still plod on Through hoodwiftkings to light."

Mr. Lascelles Abercrombie is a refreshing figure to meet in smodern poetry. His Interludes and Poems has scarcely a trait in common with the accomplished minor verse of the day. He has no prettinesses ; he has a most defective ear ; he works -to death the trick of the extra syllable in the pentameter line ; he is a true " spasmodic," and takes a delight in saying the .simplest thing in the most extravagant way, with the result 'that be is as often as not forcible-feeble ; his fancy luxuriates nn hideous images ; and he is almost- habitually obscure from 'sheer carelessness. Yet he has great merits. He has thought, imagination, and a rude gusto of style. It is unfortunately impossible to find a dozen lines which are not marred by some blemish ; but the impression of the whole is one of originality ,and power. He has a great reach, and no little grasp. His main fault is that he has not yet mastered the true relation- ship of metaphysics and poetry. He forgets form in argu- ment, with the result that often we get neither poetry nor philosophy. The chief poems in the book are tales in -verse after Browning's fashion,—the story of the girl turned by God into His own likeness, the tale of the sophist Peregrinus from Lucian, a beautiful little eclogue called "An Escape," and "Blind," which tells a hideous tale with uncommon power. This last is the story of a woman and her blind sonwho wander through the world looking for the boy's father. The son has been trained to strangle him when he is found ; but one day when the mother is absent an old fiddler comes to the camp and is entertained. The mother returns to find that the tramp is her former lover, and, moved by the sight of his misery, her love revives; but she is too late to prevent the blind son from strangling him. The execution of this grim theme is worthy of the conception. We are not in the least inclined to give advice to Mr. Abercrombie. In time he will come to his own, when he has learned that a concatenation of harsh words and gruesome images is not the only secret of power. There is hope for him, for his

gift of thought is genuine, and it takes time to qurb this into the channels of art. As a specimen of his quality we quote the sonnet called " A Fear " :—

"As over muddy shores a dragon flock

Went, in an early age from ours discrete Before the grim race found oblivion meet; And as Time hardened into iron rock That unclean mud, and into cliffs did look The story of that terrifying street, The hooked claws and scales of wrinkled feet, Till quarrying startles us with amaz'd shock.

So there was Somewhat wont to pass along The plashy merge of my rathe consciousness. Now the quagmires are turned to pavements strong ; Those outer twilight regions bold I may Explore,—yet still I shudder with distress At hideous fixed slots of his old way?'

"L.'s" slim book of poems, The Dark Ages, is a little lacking

in rhythmical finish, but has the merit of ideas, and now and then of a fine verse. The religious poetry is always sincere and often delicately fanciful, while the few sonnets are all good.

Of the sacred poems we should put " Lethe " first, and of the others "The English Gipsies " and the charming " Cottage Inscription." Not all of the lyrics are Arcadian. Some are passionate outcries against contemporary follies. Mr. Bernard

O'Dowd—Dominions of the Boundary—stands alone among modern Australian poets. Instead of writing songs in praise of horses and ballads of bush adventure, he is pre- occupied with the graver things of life. He uses exclu- sively a four-lined stanza, and there are traces of Mr.

Kipling's omnipresent influence in the frequent personifica- tion of abstractions. In many ways Mr. O'Dowd is the most promising of Australian writers, for with the fresh-

ness of a new country he does not discard the culture of the old, he is commendably free from stale conventions, and he has the capacity for thought. "Michael Field's" Wild Honey is a collection of sonnets and lyrics, of which the inspiration is mainly classical, but which show an unclassical

luxuriance of imagery. The work is always musical and accomplished, and now and then, as in " Chariclo," it attains, real distinction. We confess to liking Miss Mann's Stray

Stanzas less than her Replies to Elizabethan Songs, which we reviewed a year ago. She is a very skilful maker of verses

but her talent is for imitation, and she is at her best when her model is provided. Imitative, too, is Miss Steuart's

A Garland of Lyrics. The book is so full of ballades and rondeaux that it might have been published in the " seven- ties " when such exercises were in fashion. There is no great strength in her talent, but it is always graceful and pleasing. Mr. Case's Songs and Poems is chiefly remarkable for the verses which describe Norfolk scenes. These have the charm of simplicity; in the others he is apt to mistake rhetoric for

poetry.

Two narrative poems follow on our list. Mr. Harold Monro's Judas is a powerful and imaginative conception,

telling of Judas's early discipleship, his lust for power, his irritation with the impracticableness of his fellows, and his alienation from a Master whose kingdom was not of this world. It is a fine piece of psychology, set out in sonorous

and dignified verse. The same praise may be given to Mr. Frederic Manning's The Vigil of Brunhild, in -which the

captive Queen tells the story of her life. His blank verse shows a real mastery over that much-abused form. Miss

Gore-Booth's little play, The Sorrowful Princess, will be a dis- appointment to those who remember the beauty of her lyrics. It is refined and fanciful, but singularly aimless. All meaning is blurred away into a gentle mysticism. Mr. Nelson Gardner's Two Dramas and One Song reveals considerable dramatic talent and a complete lack of self-criticism. A fine passage is constantly marred by a banal line. Lady Arabella, Romilly's The Coming Dawn. is a posthumous collection of verses written over a period of thirty years Many of the

devotional poems seem to us of high merit. We would mention also the reprint of the late Mrs. Archer • Gurney's

Poems. Last on our list comes a little volume of light verse, Lays of West Africa, by Mr. Alan Field, the author of that vivacious work, " Verb. Sap." on Going to East Africa. It is dedicated " with respect " to the anopheles mosquito, " the real

Governor-General of West Africa." It is an amusing, light- hearted performance, and the local allusions will be appreciated by the man on the spot. To us, we confess, most of them are " Allah's mysteries."