MR. THORNELY'S MISCELLANY OF VERSE.* "A MISCELLANY of Verse" is
the sub-title of the present volume, and its contents are elsewhere summed up as- " Fancies for the fair, And proverbs for the old, With legends lightly told."
The legends are conspicuous by their absence, unless represented by three or four imaginative renderings of classical and Scandinavian themes, which, however, have nothing of the legend proper in their construction. Nor do the " proverbs for the old" justify this description, either by wit or wisdom. But the bulk of the collection comes under the first heading ; and some of these poems we can warmly commend. It is perhaps -unfair to accept the foregoing lines, quoted from a light and humorous piece, as a serious indication of the contents of the volume ; and some of these " fancies " are poems of no mean aim. Mr. Thornely possesses considerable felicity of expression, and a refined and delicate imagination. There is a want of striking originality about his work; it lacks robustness ; but on the other hand it is disfigured by no harshness of sound, no fault of workmanship. Here and there it rises to considerable heights. The best examples are characterised by dignity and strength as well as by the pre- vailing grace both of feeling and form. But again, in many instances, Mr. Thornely falls short of achievement, and fails in conveying the impression which was probably his aim. This is noticeably the case in the poems which deal with nature. He draws his inspiration from the North, and acknow- ledges his debt in verses addressed to the Peak country ; but though he does not fail to express his love, he leaves un- touched the chief characteristics of the district. Mountains, valleys, meadows, streams, and springs are named, each with an appropriate word of praise; yet the whole poem might be applied, without a word of change, to any other hilly region. The peculiar attraction of Derbyshire scenery is passed over. The motion of the clouds, whose soft tones harmonise so impressively with grey limestone rook and the subdued greens of Derbyshire hills,—the faint, austere colouring of the dis- tance, with the contrasting vividness of grass and trees at hand,--the sternness of the general effect, with the overflowing wealth and tenderness of detail,—give the Peak country a charm of its own which does not deserve to be slighted in eulogistic verses. We cannot believe that Mr. Thornely is insensible to such marked characteristics. He testifies that his acquaintance is no superficial one by the opening lines * Moinonts Apart : Wimp a AfisoelZany of Voree. IIy Jamee L. Thernely. Printed privately.
Many a one bath seen your mountains ; Seen your valleys and your streams : Yet, methinks, he little dreams All that meadows—all that fountains, All that woods can mean to one Who hath known you as I knew you ; Who hath lived and wandered through you, Loving you as I have done."
And that he feels the spell is proved by his lines,— " None that love you not can hear Sounds like these. None may inherit
All the airy wealth of colour, All the ecstasy of sound, All the beauty that is found Where love lights the scene."
But that a poem may be worthy of the scene it celebrates, it should reflect the beauty it praises, and suggest even to those who are ignorant of the subject the prevailing tones. Mr. Thornely's poem in this respect is inadequate. It is a cata- logue of features, but fails to convey any idea of the whole aspect of the Peak country. The short poem, entitled "On the Moors," seems to us to incur the same criticism. We give it in full :- "Would that my life were like to yours, Without a frown of discontent, But over bright and innocent— Ye happy children of the moors !
For not a breeze blows there but tells
How all things on those heights rejoice, In wafted fragrance, and the voice Of plovers on the distant fells.
And not a rill that finds its way Scarce heard amid the oozy fen, But brings a message down to men From regions where the clouds have sway."
It is true that no scenery gives the same sense of boundless and exultant joy as a moor on a brilliant day, save, perhaps, the sea under the same conditions ; but it needs but the slightest acquaintance with moorland to know that this aspect is exceptional, and that the prevailing mood is of stern deso- lation, accompanied either by a pouring rain blotting out form and colour, or by a brooding mist that fills the air with minute points of moisture, and shrouds the distance in im- penetrable haze. There is little that is,— "Without a frown of discontent,
And ever bright and innocent,"
in the dark heeler, sodden soil, and lowering sky of the moors in most weathers. Yet it is true that, whatever the weather, they do not fail to bestow the same exhilaration, the same sense of space and power. Their characteristic note is not joy; freedom and strength, defying darkness, storm, and cloud, sufficient to themselves under circumstances favouring or adverse, are the true gifts of the moors. The "wafted fragrance" in which "all things on those heights" rejoice, is a temporary feature, a property which is no part of the definition. The last line calls up a stronger and more truthful image. "Regions where the clouds have sway" cannot be those where brightness and innocence reign un- shadowed.
Several of the love-poems are remarkably musical and felicitous; and the fine " Invocation to Aphrodite " rises to dignity and power. Yet its promise is not fulfilled in this thin volume. Charming though one or two of the songs are, they hardly embody "the glory" that the goddess's might-- " Can wreak in noble hearts that love aright.
So, though my words be rough, and music crude, The ear that listens shall be tuned of thee, To hear, perchance, some voiceless symphony Breathe in the air—not lightly understood, But felt unto the being's inmost core, Though time and breath and words should be no more."
This is a fine promise ; and if, as it appears, it is the prelude to some hereafter-to-be-published work of Mr. Thornely's, we shall look forward to its advent with interest. But it is only fair to repeat that the present collection is not worthy of this lofty strain, which, however, appears midway in the book without relation to the rest of its contents. Yet we would not have it thought that there is any fault to find with the love-poems here given save their inherent' slightness. They are graceful, melodious, and happily conceived; and it is only the fuller note struck by the invocation which raises a somewhat captious discontent. If Mr. Thornely will cultivate the deeper strings of his lyre he
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