MINCHIN'S SYBIL ; A SOUL'S HISTORY. *

Tuts volume of poetry emanates from the Delta of the Cavery or Cole- roon and does credit to the muses of Tanjore. There is not that entire freedom from the trammels of any "system or school" which Mr. Min- chin intimates in his preface ; but the whole book is pervaded by the

peculiar quality which distinguishes poetry from prose, and which, in de- fault of a more definite term, we call poetical spirit. Sybil, the princi-

pal poem, also possesses a distinct purpose, and a story consistent with itself, if not very customary in life. The story is made a vehicle for exhibiting many pictures of character and feeling; the narrative abounds in thought and imagery ; and the whole is well sustained.

In Sybil, Mr. Minchin's school or mode is the last—that which be- ginning with Barry Cornwall was presented in its best form by Tennyson,

and has been carried to an extreme by Browning and some others. In discarding art and dignity in subject, Wordsworth, indeed, may be con- sidered as the originator of the whole race. In looking to mere nature

as containing the elements of poetry, Wordsworth, however, took nature

in a large and general sense, not from those single or peculiar points of view which characterize his irregular band of followers; • and in his better works he exhibited a simple depth and strength which his disciples have seldom attained, and the want of which has probably driven them on more peculiar subjects and a quaint or affected style.

Sybil has both these last-named characteristics; but the peculiarity

of subject is the most marked. The object of the poem is to show that love is the true end of life-

" The state where human bliss alone is known,

The bliss of loving, and of being loved ": and that advancement, ambition, or fame, should all be postponed to this true happiness. The story that enforces this is a continuous or double one. The father of Sybil is a certain Lord Roland, who marries a maiden of low degree. After a year of wedded happiness, Edith dies in giving

birth to a daughter ; and here the poem of Sybil begins, the previous

tale being told in an introduction. Overcome by the death of his wife, Lord Roland remains in solitude ; his daughter being the only person for whom he cares, or indeed whom be sees, except domestics. As Sybil reaches her teens, he feels the responsibility of her education, and; -toe

spiritless to undertake- it.. .himself, opens up a communication with

Sterling, an old college friedd,lvhotti he had lost sight of since„his mar. riage with Edith. The friend accepts the offer of tutor ; cultivates the taste and intellect of Sybil to a high degree ; and on Lord Roland's premature death, becomes the daughter's guardian. As Sybil ripens into woman- hood, a passion grows up in Sterling's he,art, which he struggles against in vain. He determines to fly; but in the scene where he bids Sybil farewell, he utters his love and she bids him remain. A sense of his misconduct, and the sense that Sybil only feels regard and not love, dis- tracts him, and he thus cuts the knot. Sybil has returned from a walk in a summer evening.

"A letter on the table caught her eye, Written in Sterling's hand: she opened it, And by the soft rays of that summer moon She slowly read the wild and passionate words, With whitening lips shaping each syllable. "'Sybil, you think me mad; perhaps lam;

I know not if this torment on my brain

May not have snapped its reason: but I know That I have done a foul and treacherous act Against the faith of one who was my friend; And since that hour my life has been a curse. You do not love me, Sybil, with the love

Your yearning woman's heart will one day feel:

Were I to wed you, I should blight in the bud

Your bright life promise; and this early dream

Of what you thought was love will pass away, And its flight yield you but a moment's pain. There is but one way left to break the links Of error, by my own wild passion forged;

And when those links are broken, think of me As one who gave up for thy sake himself.

"'There are some thoughts a man hoards up within, Not babbling out his secret. Now I speak, For blame or horror injure me no more. Belief or unbelief spring of themselves; And I blame not my soul, because its thought Would only credit what the sense can see. I tremble not at priest-invented tales Of burning hell-fires and eternal doom: I fancy I shall lie calm in the grave: If it indeed be otherwise, full soon I shall have solved that great world-mystery; And it is not that thought that throbbeth now In my full beating heart. I die with joy, Since thus alone I can cut through the spell Wound by my own heart-treason round thy youth.'

"Is it the night air, balmy as a sigh,

That creeps in icy chill to Sybirs heart? The numbness steals through every frozen vein, And cold and still, as is the lifeless hand That formed those fearful syllables, Sybil fell; And the moon shone, the bright leaves rustled still, The flowers, deep-washed in dew, perfumed the air, The nightingales broke out in louder song, As if there was no horror on the earth."

To Sybil a serious illness is the consequence; during which she is tended by Lady Temple, a relation of her father ; and subsequently

_Nivou ;a Sours History. By James Innes Minehin, Author of" Trafford, and other Doom" Published by Smith and Elder.

accompanies her home as an adopted daughter. Vivian, the eon of Lady Temple, falls in love with Sybil; is refused; leaves home, and writes poetry; returns to bid his mother and his lady-love farewell, but finds his affection at last returned.

As a story, the force and effect are not in proportion to the strange- ness • and the moral pointed by the poet is of narrow or at least an in- dividual kind.

"Did Vivian win renown as well as love?

He sought it not his life was changed to bliss: Fame's idle breath might solace wretched men, For him it was not worth the toil to win. The dreaming of his life had grown to truth; In that serene fruition of his hopes No cause was left for craving or unrest; Content was not a virtue but a needs."

For the individual Vivian, with an ample fortune and no particular call for exertion, this mode of life might suffice ; but had it been followett by the ancestors on both sides, there would have been neither fortune, nor leisure for husband or wife. If the doctrine of the poem were gene- rally received, society would never have emerged from Arcadia, or from barbarism ; to which last it would inevitably relapse. And this short- coming is a true type of the class of writers among which Mr. Minchin ranks. Their views, being peculiar, are limited; whereas they write as if their conclusions were universaL Hence, if their merits were even greater than they are, they could never become popular ; for the people at large are only affected by what has general truth and common sense for a basis. They may often be deluded by claptrap appearances, ad- miring the false Florimel, 'without any magic means of detecting the imi-

tation; but the semblance of Florimel must be there. .

In a literary sense, story and its incidents are not the main strength of this class of writers, but the execution—the manner in which thingit not inherently attractive are made so by the skill and imagery of the poet. Such is the case with Sybil. The strangely simple character of the outline is enriched by the filling-up. The development of character under circumstances, and the peculiar positions and feelings of the per- sons, are painted with truth and delicacy ; the accessories of natural imagery and the poet's reflections are introduced with aptness, and a nice perception of the sentimentally beautiful; there is no looseness or diffu- sion of expression ; and the whole is animated and sustained. The want of the piece is essential—the want of breadth and universality.

This deficiency, however, does not appear in particular reflections, which sometimes have justness of thought with much elegance of diction.

THE INFLUENCE OF MATERNA.L LOVE.

Sweet is the influence of a mother's love

On childhood's dawning heart., The, sarnest eyes,

That droop all tenderly above the brow,

Of infant innocence, pour from their deeps The sympathetic softness of their gaze;

And the young heart wakes taillike a flavor Opening its petals 'neath the summer dew. That influence never dies. The helpless child s

Dreams through its lower nature, puts on strength, Revels in the wild-world paradise of youth, Draws glorious aspirations from the stars, And grovelling doubts and fears from fellow-men; Quits youth's bright dreams for stern life's real cares, Is jostled in the rough and jarring world, Yet in each phase of that career of life, Turns, in the softer impulse of the soul, Back to that first fresh fountain of deep love That ever wells up in a mother's heart.

A CHILD'S THOUGHT.

Roland loved To hear the little child's strange questioning. The child that thinks at all thinks like a poet; As the trim poet must live back long years, Using the experience gathered up by time With the sublime pure vision of a child. Then only things are seen in their true light, Unwarped, unbiassed by the world's made rulers; And the strange truthfulness of childish thought Startles, as with a vivid novelty,

The world-distorted wisdom of the man. Sybil talked poetry, and knew it not.

HAPPINESS KNOWN WHEN LOST.

"My child, we never know What happiness may be till it is lost. The exile does not know the bliss of home Until he wanders in the far-off lands; Affection is not known to be a bliss Until the lonely heart has pined for years; And the chief bliss of all, the bliss of youth, Is all unknown until age shows it us Far left behind."

Two shorter poems follow Sybil; and though of less moment, are fat

superior to the common ran of verses. "The Mariner's Tale "—the story of a sailor exposed on a life-buoy—though unlike Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner," may have been probably suggested by it. "The Queen of Night" is an expansion of the anecdote of the Arab mare, who saved her rider and his mistress by a wondrous leap. The style of this poem has

some resemblance to Byron's Giaour, but the imagery is desert-like.