PAYN'S POE3LS. 5 Tins little volume• does not adequately fulfil the

promise which its predecessor seemed to us to hold out.t The two years that have passed since Mr. Payn first presented himself to the public have not .produced that marked advance in style and thought which might have been anticipated from the rapid growth of faculty, and enlargement of experience, at the period when the youth is ripen- ing into the man. The subjects selected want for the most part that stirring human interest which carries the reader's sympathy along in spite of weak treatment and imperfections of style ; and the treatment and style are not in themselves so striking as to give interest to any subject however commonplace or slight. There is, however, in Mr. Payn's volume an absence of pretension or affeetation, which compensates for much that is wanting, and Which leads us still to hope that he will yet write poems that may win sympathy and admiration beyond the circle of his private friends. He is a young man of lively sensibi- lity, of pure and warm affections, and of a genial temper ; the hap- piness of youth, and a simplicity that is by no means a uni- versal gift of youth, at least in our days, light up his pages. He is content to be what Nature has made him ; and we are not dis- gusted with the straining after originality and depth, nor with the mmatural intensity of language and feeling, that too often dis- figure the effusions of our recent young versifiers. The conse- quence is, that in his poems there is, for the moat part, that keep- ing which is the sure result of an honest expression of feeling, and that he entirely avoids bathos and bombast. He is, too, in the right path in writing about what he has seen and known—about the pplace, the people, and the emotions which actual life has made • ar to him. His most marked failures in this volume are the poems entitled "Pygmalion " and the " Faery Water " : they are more ambitious than.the other poems, transcending his experience, and rising into the regions of pure imagination. But generally he confines himself within the modest limits of a young collegian's actual experience.; and there, if he fails to excite any profound interest), we at least feel that he is writing from his heart, and listen.with that sort of pleasure which even a child's simple talk giVes to alr men iii their amiable moods. The poems we quote are among the best in the book ; and they show that Mr. Payn has versatility of style to suit variety of topic.

* Poems. By James Payn. Published by Macmillan and Co., Cambridge. Spectator, December 20, 1851. ON Gm DOG JOCK.

A rolliesome frolicsome rare old cook As ever did nothing was our dog Jock;

A gleesome fleasome affectionate beast,

As slow at a fight as swift at a feast; 'A wit among dogs, when his life 'gan fail, One could'nt but see the old wag in his tail, When his years grew long and his eyes grew dim, And his course of bark could not strengthen him.

Never more now shall our knees be press'd By his dear old chops in their slobbery rest, or our mirth be.stirr'd at his solemn looks, As wise, and as dull, as divinity books. Our old friend's dead; but we all well know He's gone to the kennels where the good dogs go, Where the cooks be not, but the beef-bones be, And his old head never need turn for a flea.

THE HOME SPIRIT.

Like a sunbeam gliding over common places About this simple home of ours she moves, Whate'er her hands are set unto she graces, Her duties not beneath the things she loves. Serene, unconscious of her perfect sweetness, As one of those moss-roses she hath tied In cluster'd beauty, with some art past neatness, As born high-heartedness excelleth pride :

In all things studious of another's pleasure,

In all things careful for another's pain, Inactive never, never without leisure When age or childhood her sweet aid would gain. If e'er, thick-folded, fall the veil of sorrow, She beareth up the burden to its tomb; The love-balm dropping aye, until some morrow Putteth the tender heart again in bloom; And now the hush of sickness stealeth through us, A healing spirit 'midst its sad array,

So strong in hope, she almost seemeth to us

To chase that shadow, dark and vague, away:

Ah ! bliss to him to whom she shall be given !

Fond heart, clear bead, pure soul, and form so fair, Her spirit well might cleave to it in heaven, And meet him changeless and unangel'd there.

The poem called " The Backs " is intelligible enough to Cam- bridge men ; but non-academical readers ought to be informed that this is an ellipsis in common use at Cambridge for the gardens and " walks " behind the Colleges, through which the " ready " Cam, as Mr. Payn by a somewhat vile pun calls the venerable river, wan,

ders ; and that this portion of the river is a favourite resort in spring and summer for " funnies."

"THE BACKS."

Dropping down the river, Fold on fold of foliage Not proof against the stars. Drinking ruby claret

From the eilver'd 'Pewter,' Spoil of ancient battle On the 'ready' Cain, Ne'er to be forgotten Pleasant friendly faces Mistily discerning Through the glass below : Ah! the balmy fragance Of the mild Havannah ! Down'd amidst the purple Of our railway wrappers, Solemn-thoughted, glorious On the verge of June.

Musical the rippling Of the tardy current, Musical the murmur Of the wind-swept trees. Musical the cadence Of the friendly voices Laden with the sweetness Of the songs of old.

Down the glancing river, Through the fleet of shallops, Through the fairy fleet, Underneath the bridges, Carved stone and oaken Crown'd with sphere and pillar, Lin' king lawn with lawn, Sloping. awards of garden, Flowering bank to bank; 'Midst the golden noontide, 'Neath the stately trees, Reaching out their laden Arms to overshade us;

'Midst the summer evens, Whilst the winds were heavy With the blossom-odours, Whilst the birds were singing, From their sleepless nests : Dropping down the river, Down the branched river, Through the hidden outlet Of some happy stream, Lifting up the leafy Curtain that o'erhung it,

Mr. Payn will not be discouraged by our remarks. if he feels the poetic longing strong within him, let him go on writing about what- ever interests him ; but let him remember that poetry is an art as well as an impulse, and that to interest readers it is not sufficient to tell them how interested he is with this or that object, but he must study the art of presenting in musical words the objects which delight him—clear, distinctly made out, and recognizable. The child prattles his delight, and tells us how beautiful things are—how he loves persons : but the artist gives us the things and the persons with their essential features, that we may not only catch a faint reflection of his emotions by sympathy, but, by con- templation of the objects vividly presented, may share his emo- tions by being subject to the causes that excited them. If Me. Payn will take a practical suggestion from us, we would advise him to sketch his subjects in prose : he can then test the worth of his matter without the danger of being deceived by the sound of verse or the mere ornaments of composition. And we would more- over strenuously recommend him to cultivate rhythm more, and depend less on the jingle of rhyme. No verse is good which does not read musically without its rhyme.