DAVID HOLT'S POEMS. * ALTHOUGH we are no very great admirers

of the poems of Keats, (his poetical genius, which was insufficiently developed at his death, is another matter,) it must be allowed that Keats revived if he did not originate the fanciful school in poetry, as Wordsworth created the purely natural. Both had great merits so far, but both wanted the completeness that is the proof of the highest kind of genius. Each had passages, and Wordsworth poems, in which the highest poetical excellence was exhibited ; but the most elaborated works of both writers were vitiated by faults greater than criticism is called upon to excuse: Wordsworth was often level, prosaic, bald ; Keats, dreamy, mystical, and word-spinning. That each, however, had a mission in his way, is proved by the effect they produced on poetical manner. Scarcely. a poet who began his career in the present century but has been influenced by Wordsworth. If Keats has not had so extensive an operation on the age, he has had many followers, and those too amongst writers who possess the greatest poetical power, whatever use they may make of it. Perhaps the greatest living poet, Tennyson is the product of the two schools ; and he faithfully represents their faults and their beauties. He has improved upon Wordsworth, by often selecting for his subjects a higher class of society, with more extended in- terests and wider sympathies than the "pedlar poems " which ex- cited the ridicule of -Byron ; and he has exhibited nature with a force, a truth, and a poetical feelibs, that Wordsworth has never surpassed, perhaps hardly eqOalled. But be also selects subjects that, having no palpable inherent matter, owe their attraction to

felicity of treatment and engrafted to ; and which sometimes, be they treated how they may, are forced and artificial. With their merits Tennyson frequently has the faults of his prototypes, and even In a greater degree. He exhibits the undisciplined

of Keats ; he has passages, and one tall at least, that not only exhibit the bald prosaic character of " ordsworth's worst manner, but if looked at alone, would justify Byron's exclamation about the Patriarch of the Lakers, " crazed beyond all hope." Among the many poetical aspirants who seem to be followers of Tennyson, though perhaps, like himself, deriving their manner from the two sources we speak of, Mr. Holt is among the best, and decidedly the most promising. He has evidently the first great requisite of his art, poetical capacity. He often sees quali- ties in things which are hidden from the prosaic or merely rheto- rical mind; he has that faculty of combining natural images, and deducing from the combination something beyond the on which we call imagination ; he can present his thoughts with the figures,.graees, and spirit, which distinguish poetry from prose however elevated. As yet, indeed, his powers are only partially displayed. He wants greater depth of thought; mostly a better choice of subject—something which, if not less trite or common, shall excite more interest in the reader and display more direct purpose. This remark does not apply to poems of a purely fanci- ful kind ; although that class of subjects should be handled sparingly, for there is no medium between felicity and failure. But Mr. Holt often does not succeed so well as he is capable of doing, either from choosing a topic with which little can be done, or from an insufficient development of its capabilities, owing to the absence of searching and comprehensive thought. The piece, for exa.mple, that gives its title to the volume before us, " A Lay of Hero-Worship,', is a poem on Shakspere's birthday : it is better than the affected and imitative title would lead one to imagine; but it is common in the plan and the execution—a description of a beautiful day and a landscape, the claims of genius in general and Shakspere's genius in particular, with the exhausted idea of direct or allusive sketches of the poet's chefs-d'ceuvre. What is done is no doubt well in its way, eIly. the descriptions of nature ; and deficiency of subject, or of that interest which arises from subject, is one of the last deficiencies a writer can detect. Hence the importance of considering it maturely, not merely with reference to the writer's capabilities but to its own character.

Few of the poems in the volume are of any le : some, indeed, are short; some little more than what are ed A Thought." The longest, except the Lay, is a series of "Songs of the Earth-

* A Lay of Rem-Worship and other Poems. By David FLA. [abashed by Pickeziag.

Spirits " ; from which we take one, as a specimen of Mr. Holt in the purely fanciful.

" We come on the breath of the sharp clear breeze, The spirits of Frost are we ; We hang our wreaths on skeleton trees, And beautiful wreaths they be.

" White, pure white are the robes we wear, Robes wrought of the feathery snow ; With bright quick wings through the sparkling air On our silent missions we go.

" By our aid the spirit of Silence reigns;

We hush, the brooklet's song;

And bind the waters in icy chains, By a spell unseen but strong.

" Silent we work through the livelong night In cities and trees and dells, And men behold by the morning light Our carved-work and icicles.

" We sprinkle the snow on the harden'd plains, We whiten the barren moor; We hide from view mortality's stains, Till the sinful earth seems pure.'

Lines to a friend on his Wedding-day, which took place in De- cember, are a good example of the author's graver style.

• " To J. B. ON HIS -wEDDIWO-DAY.

"I do not wish, knowing such wish most vain,

That life may be to you a path of flowers ; A happy Eden, with no thought of pain, A day of summer, with no clouded hours : Such bliss may never fall to mortal lot, For earth were heaven if grief and care were not.

" But I do wish that you may find that love Of holiest joy is a perpetual spring; And that to you its blessed power may prove A veil of light to garment everything; The warm pure sunbeam of your way of life, Shed from the eyes of a devoted wife.

" Your wife ! strange word for you, yet sweet as strange ; Dear friend, you feel new-made, a nobler man ;

Existence hath a more expanded range'

And human life a more exalted plan, Since you have taken to your home and heart

One dearer than yourself, and of yourself a part.

" And even at this season of the year, When you are wandering with your happy bride, How beautiful will Nature's face appear,. With such a dear companion at your side : Her sweetness o'er the landscape will be thrown, And Nature's charms be heightened by her own.

" Cherish her, love her, for she is a part

Of your existence; a most gentle flower Transplanted to the rich soil of your heart, There to shed perfume to life's latest hour; To soften every wo, to share each joy, And heighten all your bliss, her dear employ.

" May you and she whom you this day have wed Be good and happy ; on each countenance May the pure light of fireside joys be shed, And calm contentment fill each thoughtful glance. You have the prayers of one true friend at least, That life's best joys may be to both increased."

"Thoughts," or short essays in verse on themes displaying more of reflection than experience, are favourite subjects with Mr. Holt : such as the following stanzas.

HOPE ON, HOPE EVER.

When the bitter waters of affliction flowing Have steep'd thy soul in misery and wo ; When the anguish and the grief which thou art knowing, Seem the greatest that a human heart can know; When all the ties of sweet affection sever, 0 then, Hope on Hope ever ! For this tree of Hope, though deceitful is its blossom, Though its fruit be ashes, lovely is its bloom, And it yields sweet cordial to the wounded bosom, And'tis better to go hoping than despairing to the tomb. Resign thyself to vam lamentings never, But still Hope on ! Hope ever! Though thy warmest aspirations may deceive thee, Though the chosen of thy bosom prove unkind, Though all the friends who vow'd to love thee leave thee,

Yet be not thou to aimless grief resign.'d ; Make head against the current of life's river,

Rough though it be, and still Hope on ! Hope ever !