2 SEPTEMBER 1837, Page 17

THE TRIBUTE.

THE Reverend EDWARD SMEDLEY is known to the literary world as the Editor of the Encyclopedia Metropolitana. Having, through attention to his laborious duties, lost his hearing, and his sight in the spring of 1636 beginning to fail front the saline cause, Lord NORTHAMPTON, ill conjunction with Mr. SPRING RICE, pro- jected this volume, with " the object of sparing him those arduous literary labours which threatened his sight or his life." To some minds the readier mode of presenting him to a living would probably have suggested itself; but, whatever had then been done, would have been done too late. In a few weeks Mr. SMEDLEY died,—another literary victim ; for scholarship probably has changed the mode of its distress rather than the distress itself. The wits and scholars of otber ages lived jollity and irregularly ; spending whilst they had it, living on credit when they could get it, and dying of want when both money and means were exhausted. It is yet too early to predicate the general literary character of what may be termed our own age ; but EDWARD SMEDLEY is not perhaps the only man %vim has fallen in the endeavour to sustain the regularity, respectability, and independence of the scholar,—worn out by the premature exhaustion of a pursuit which not only tasks the facul- ties beyond most others, but trains them as it were to a morbid sen- sibility.

A volume is not to be scanned too closely, projected for the object we have stated, and published for the benefit of the family, (though, to guard against future misconceptions, it should be said that Mr. SMEDLEY left some poems behind him, which his widow is also about to publish). As a collection of poetry, however, it will bear the critical test, as regards variety, versification, and readableness ; and there is no lack of either great or little names. Wen this, however, as upon many other occasions we have not found the more famous bards are the most distinguished, whether they be compared with their own fame or with their fellows. To the Tribute WORDSWORTH has contributed a little piece; of which the moral is good, though not very new; but the allegory which conveys it is not clear, and the execution of the verses is in- sufficient to redeem the matter from triteness. The same, or a yet harsher judgment, may be passed on Moortis "Mute Courtship ; " which has neither fancy nor prettiness to carry ofl its obscure insipidity. The subject and matter of Mrs. JOANNA BAILLIE'S "Merry Bachelor ' are trivial, but the execution is careful. Hoaact. SMITH is only forced and foolish. Considering the circumstances under which their assistance was asked, and apart front a regard to poetical reputation, these failures are scarcely creditable to the parties. SOUTHEY'S " Brough Bells," though merely the versification of a commonplace incident, with a legend attached, reminds us of the mingled strength and simplicity of such earlier pieces us the " Battle of Blenheim," and exhibits proofs of labour, or at least of a habit which supersedes the necessity of' its employment. BERNARD BARTON, WO, has striven to do 1,15 best ; but not with very great success : his verses are souuding and smooth; but have no peculiar happiness of thought Or expression. Mr. BowLES. who contributes one or two pieces, is the only bard who sustains his average reputation; unless Mr. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR may share this merit. Of the statesmen who have added their mite, Lord JOHN ginal, and- the verses scan, but the spirit of Homaa is not. there. nor indeed -any poetical spirit at all. Tile Chancellor of the Ex- chequer's lines on " Revisiting Trinity College," are somewhat pompous, with a pretence of sentiment; but they fill the ear and become the mouth: Lord CANTERBURY would roll .them out witk effect. There is something like a large thought in the image of the two first lines of the following passage : .

" Before the Spirit to Bethesda's pool

Gave healing power, the waters first were moved : Could but such influence reach a worm like me, And rouse from torpor, life new life would gain, And, like the eagle springing towards the sun, The soul, on angel-pinions borne_, would seek Eternal beauty, undecaying truth,

Wisdom heaven-taught, and virtue strong in faith."

To enumerate the names and merits of the amateur poets were a long task. The efforts of all are respectable ; of some very much above it. The "Spinning Maiden's Cross" of the Reverend W. WHEWELL, is a pretty and affecting story, pleasantly and tenderly told; there is some liveliness and some luck in Mr. EMPSON verses on SHAKSPEARE ; the late Lady Noon" AM PION'S "Outlaw !' is a piece of wild Italian romance, without being improbable or un- natural; and the "Knights of St. John- is the fragment of what would have been an able college poem on the siege of Malta by the Turks, and its surrender to the French Revolutionists. It also gives promise of better things, had its writer been spared; but, in this brief biography, we have the fate of another author- " William Norton Smyth, son to the Vicar of St. Austle, was found life- less in his room at Brasennose, his Aristotle on the floor by hie side. A blood. vessel had broken—apparently from excess of study, under the excitement of an approaching examination. In the writing-ease 01 this amiable aid pionlising youth was found the following copy of verses, intended for the Oxford Prize."

In choosing an extract, we shall take that which best suits us.

The following is from a poem by Mr. R. M.MILNES, imitated from

JEAN REBOUL, the baker poet of Nismes, the BURNS of modern

France. The earlier part is descriptive of the Castle, and the bad reputation of the Seigneur its owner ; and though the incidents and examples of the latter part are a shade of the narrowest, con- sidering the universality of the allegorical being, yet there is power both in the description and personification of the lord's visiter-

" One evening, when both plain and wood

Were trackless in the snow, A beggar at the portal stood, Who little seemed to know That castle and its evil fame, As if from distant shores he came.

Like channelled granite was his front, His hair WAS crisp with rime ; He asked admittance, as was wont In that free. heartedtime: For who could leave to die i' the cold A lonely mall and awful old?

At first his prayer had no reply ; Perchanee the wild word checkt it.

But when it rose into a cry, No more the ininatei reekt it ; Till, where the cheerful flue, light shone, A voice out- thundered Wretch, begone !'

' There is no path, I have no strength. What can I do alone?

Grant shelter, or I lay my length, And perish on the stone. I crave not much : I S1141111.1 he blest In kennel or in barn to rest."

What matters thy vile head to me?

Dare not to touch the door !'

Alas, and shall I never see Home, wife. and children more! '

If thou art still importunate

My serfs shall nail thee to the gate.'

But when the wrathful Seigneur faced The object of his ire, The beggar raised his brow debased And armed his eyes with fire.

Whatever guise is on me now, I MD a mightier lord than thou.'

Mailman or cheat ! announce thy birth.'

That thou wilt know to.morrow.'

Where are thy fiefs?' The whole wide eat th. • And what thy title ?" SORROW.. Then, opening wide his ragged ve.t, lie cried, Thou can't not shun thy guest.' Ile swept his foot with fearful din ; With imprecating hand He struck the door, and past within Right through the menial band.

Follow him—seize ; theme and there !'

They only saw the blaiik night air.

But be was at his nork : ere day

Began the work of doom.

The 1uril's one daughter, one bright May, Fled with a base•born groom, Bearing about, where'er she came, The blighting of an ancient name.

His single son, that second self, Who, when his first should fall, Would hold his lands and howled pelf, Died iu a drunken tome!.

And now alone amid his gold

He stood, and fat his heart was cold.

Till, like a large and patient sea Once roused by cruel weather, Came by the raging Jacquerie, And swept away together Him and all his, save that which Time

Has hoarded to suggest our rhyme."