BOOKS.

BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL.*

IN the " Note " which serves as a preface to this poem, Mr. Buchanan warns us to dismiss from our minds all recollection of the Eddas, Ewald's Balder, CEhlenschlager's Balder hitt Gode, and Mr. Arnold's Balder Dead. "With the hero of these familiar works," he writes, "my Balder has little in common ; he is neither the shadowy god of the Eildas, nor the colossal hero of Ewald, nor the good principle of lEhlenschliiger, nor the Homeric demi- god of Mr. Arnold. In the presentation of both the Father and Son I have reverted to the lines of the most primitive mythology, discovering in the one the Northern Messiah as well as the Northern Apollo, in the other (instead of the degraded Odin of later super- stition) the Alfadur, or temporarily omnipotent godhead, who, despite his darker features, has affinity with both the Zeus of the Eleusinian mysteries and the Jehovah of the Bible." The writer adds that the poem, if it fulfils its purpose at all, should have many meanings for many minds.

We must give Mr. Buchanan credit for a noble purpose, and no competent reader of Balder the Beautiful will doubt that, to a certain extent, that purpose has been fulfilled. His pleasure in the perusal will, however, be largely mixed with other feelings. The poem is not great throughout, its interest is not sustained, it is frequently injured by feeble lines, and sometimes by lines or phrases to which it is difficult to attach a meaning. Mr. Buchanan's work has always been unequal. Some of it fully merits the most generous praise that has been awarded to it, and proves the writer's title to the high place he has obtained amongst the poets of his age. He has tried his hand at many kinds of poetry, and his efforts in several instances have been rewarded with success. The idyll, the sonnet, the lyric, and the descriptive poem have been employed by Mr. Buchanan with masterly ability ; and if we venture on this occasion to point to defects, it is from no wish to depreciate the genius of the writer.

We may observe that the poem before us is in various metres, from the sober movements of the unrhymed heroic measure to the easiest and simplest forms of rhyme. In reading the story of Balder, therefore, the ear is continually entertained, or it may be distressed by diversity. It depends upon the art of the poet whether he can pass rapidly from one measure to another without irritating his readers. Much of the soothing, satisfying charm of verse is gained, from what we may venture to call a well- regulated monotony. The stream of verse may flow gently through green meadows, or ripple playfully over stones, or break with tumultuous energy upon rocks ; but whether the stream glide softly or rush impetuously, it is for the most part necessary that it should be restrained within its natural channel. Sudden and extreme changes in the form of verse are in our judgment fatal to harmony, and the contrariety between the sober, elevating versi- fication of one page and the dancing jig of the next is unfavourable to the recital of Balder's story. Another fault that strikes us in the poem is the somewhat careless use of language and of imagery. There are lines to which we find it impossible to attach a meaning, there are images that seem wholly incongruous, there are words that would appear to have been used simply for the convenience of rhyme, and not because they best express the poet's meaning. Death is personified as having eyes "soft in sorrow," and a brow on which "lives a light like starlight shed on snow," images which, if not especially remarkable, call for no comment ; but on the same page Death is stated to have a "brow wonderful with dream)" and to point "up thro' the starry shine," expressions which are opposed to sense and gram- mar. In another place, Death, who, ace)rding to Mr. Buchanan's verse, is gentle and loveable, sings a song in which he says that on his eyes there falls a gleam,—

" That keeps them dim and blind,

Of strange eternities of dream, Before me and behind."

What a gleam of this extraordinary nature can ho is a problem to be solved only by the poet himself. Indeed, whenever he alludes to dreams, and he frequently does allude to them, we arc unable to follow him, and we venture to think the difficulty will be shared by most readers. flow, for instance, can a spirit springing from a tomb be " rainbow'd into dream ?" and can any poetical meaning be attached to the statement that Balder "shed in silent solitude the peaceful rays of dream?" Moreover, there is a great deal too much of conventional diction in this poem, and

" Balder the Beautiful: a Bova y Divine Death, By Robert &Amen. William Mullen and Sen. 1877.

the ear wearies of emerald lawns and saffron light, of silvern feet and silvern sands, of lustrous stars and silken hair, of shadowy cheeks and shadowy forms, of starry eyes and starry waves. If it be said that thhi is captious criticism, and that this is not the spirit in which we ought to judge of a poet's mind, it should be remem- bered that the highest imagination and the airiest flights of fancy do not free the poet from the restraints imposed by grammar and sound sense. He, above all writers, should be choice in the use of words, and should be able to distinguish between the legitimate exercise of his great gift and the laxity that is due to incapacity or indifference.

In Balder the Beautifid the pleasure we might otherwise receive

is greatly marred by the poet's infelicitous use of adjectives, and by much that when divested of its poetical garb is essentially common-place. But in spite of all defects, the poem is one which none but a true poet could have written, and there are pas- sages in it marked by noble imagination and felicitous descrip- tion. The meaning of the poem will be deciphered variously by different readers, but it is evident to all that Mr. Buchanan seeks to discover a brotherhood in the Gods of Greece and Rome and of the Northern mythology to the Divine Being whom Christians worship. His hero, Balder, partly human and partly divine, is represented as Christlike in his love of humanity and in his spirit of self-sacrifice. He is the "benign-eyed watcher of all beautiful things," and walks through the world but to bless it

Divino!—The forest glimmers where he goes To crimson and to rose!

And whereso'er he comes no creature fears ; Each lingers, sees and hears. The boughs bend clown to touch his yellow hair ; Around his white feet bare The grass waves amorous ; on his shoulder white The singing birds alight, Singing the sweeter ; and in spaces clear The brown-eyed dappled deer With tremulous ear and tail around him stand, Licking his outstroteh'd hand With warm, rough tongues. Ho sings,—all things around Are husht to hear the sound.

He smiles—all things are smiling—wood and stream With some new glory gleam, Dark branches blossom, and the greensward nigh Is sunnier than the sky 1"

Frea, the divine mother of Balder, leads him on a long journey to Asgard, the city of the gods, where he calls upon his father.

No answer is received, beyond a voice that came thundrous out

a heaven, with no words, but he follows the sound, and leaves

his mother "praying close to the earth." After a time she sees Balder approaching

SloWly, like one whose heart is heavy; slowly, Like one that muses sadly as he moves; Slowly, with darkness brooding at his back, Came Balder, and his coming far away Was ov'n as moonlight when the moon is sad On misty nights of March; and when again He passed across the ashes of the City, And she who bare him could behold his face, 'Twits spectral white, and in his heavenly eyes There dwelt a shadowy pain. Ev'n as a man Who, passing thro' the barrows of the slain, Hath soon the corpses sit at dead of night Gazing in silence from their own green graves; Or as a maiden who bath seen a wraith, And knoweth that her shroud is being woven, Came Balder out of heaven ; still divine And beautiful, but ah 1 how sorrowful!

Still bright, but with a light as sadly fair,

Compared to that first splendour of the dawn, As moonshine is to sunshine ; on his brow The shade of some new sorrow ; in his eyes

The birth of some new pity ; as a god,

m i Yet ghost-like, with deep gla our n his gaze,

Slowly, with faltering footsteps, Balder came.".

He trembles and shivers, "like a man smitten to the bone with cold," as be tells that be has seen his Father and his brethren, and once more turns his eyes with eagerness to the things he loved on earth :—

" 0 come away ! Conic back to those green woods where I was born. The ways of heaven are dreary, and the winds

Of heaven blow chilly, and I fain would find

A refuge and a home."

So Balder, after receiving Frea's blessing, leaves behind him the cold skies, and finds his deepest joy in watching happy things of clay :—

"I love the green Earth beat, he said, And I on Earth will dwell,"

So he moves along, spreading blessedness on his track, but Death, the great enemy of the race, is more powerful than he ; and Balder, therefore, seeks out Death, and vows he will not rest until he clasp the slayer. Some of the best poetry in the volume relates to this arch-enemy, and the passionate feeling ex- pressed in a "Cry from the Ground," of which the burden is that death makes all things dark, is perhaps as noteworthy as any portion of the poem. We quote the concluding stanzas :-

" He hunts us fleetly on the snowy steep,

He finds us as we sow and as wo reap, Ho creepoth in to slay us as we sleep,— ! Death makes all things dark !

Yea, when afar over our nets hang we, Ho walks unto us, oven on the sea ; The wind blows in his hair, the foam flies free O'er many a sinking bark!

Pity us, gods, and take this god away, Pity us, gods, who made us out of clay,

Pity us, gods, that our sad souls may say,—

' Bright is tho world which Death a space made clorl:.”

Gladly will Balder die as sacrifice, to uplift this shadow from the earth :—

"Father, Father, bend down and hearken, And place thy hand upon my hair; Ero yet I wither, ore yet I darken, Hear me murmur a last, low prayer.

As the blood of a raerifice is shed,

Lot me die in my brethren's stead,—

Let me die, but when I am dead, Call back thy Death to heaven !

Ay me! any Father, if this may be, I will go with a prayer for him and thee, I will pass without a cry, Blessing and praising thee under the sky, Forgiving and forgiven."

Balder dies and rises again, and this portion of the poem may grate on the feelings of many readers, who will regard it as a travesty of the Divine sacrifice ; and it is possible, too, they may object to the manner in which the Saviour, called by the poet the "White Christ," acts a part in the drama. Not that there is aught irreverent in the poet's conception and the manner in which Balder, "the best and most divine of the gods," obtains life through the "elder Brother "is expressed with exquisite pro- priety, and justifies the motto taken from L Corinthians, xv., printed on the title-page.