BOOKS.

EPIGRAMS AND EPITAPHS.* THE epigram has fallen from its old high estate. By the word " epigram " the Greek meant simply a true thing said ' beautifully and clearly. It was not necessary that it should have any very brilliant point, still less that it should aim at' wit or malice. The Greeks, then, as they excelled in every form of writing, excelled greatly in the true epigram. It was left to the Romans to impart a flavour of gall instead of • Epigrams and Epitaphs. Selected by Aubrey Stewart. London : Chapman and Hall. hone

boat tk.e epigram took on a sharper edge. From this ht t time -though many real and beautiful epigrams have o• • er, this form of verse has been rather Roman than Gre and even malicious rather than true and excp, in' 4he French naturally delight in epigram ; the who aye or of _. their language is towards brilliancy and point ; but re fom.'Inglish have also shone in this literature, chiefly af a certain directness and force, of which our a, Ian ti is more capable than any other. Mr. Aabrey Ste . v° has produced a little volume which cannot fail to entertain. At the same time the chief impression left on the reader after threading this wilderness of wit is one of exhaustion. In longer poems the mind is relieved by duller passages, and one becomes more reconciled to human nature; but pages after pages of brilliant flashes are apt to weary. Of course it is not easy to define an epigram, but we an see no actual reason for including Herrick's charming " Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." If poems such as these are to be included, we know of many others that have at least equal claims. Why, for instance, should not these splendid verses of Dryden have been included, and not merely added in a note. We quote them here as having, to our mind, something distinctly epigrammatic combined with singular energy and felicity :—

"When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat ; Yet fooled with hope, men favour the deceit ;

Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay ; To-morrow's falser than the former day ; Lies worse, and while it says we shall be blest

With some new joys, cuts off what we possest. Strange cozenage! None would live past years again,

Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain ; And from the dregs of life think to receive What the first sprightly runnings could not give."

We are glad to see Byron's magnificent verses on the Prince- Regent, and Warren Hastings's rhyme on Burke is interesting, and, we confess, new. One of the very best epigrams in the book is that of Burns :— " Bright ran thy line, 0 Galloway,

Thro' many a far-famed sire ;- So ran the far-famed Roman way

And ended in a mire."

'The four Georges have been perhaps more than any line of Kings, and rightly too, the incessant foes of poets. Byron we have noted ; we remember also Moore's-

" No, not for the millions of those who despise thee, Though that would make Europe's whole opulence mine;" and, again, Shelley's-

" An old, mad, blind, despised and dying king." Landor's contribution of scorn is not to be matched with any of the former instances, but is given here, and has the author's usual directness and force. Particularly good is— "When George the fourth from earth descend,ed, Heaven be praised, the Georges ended."

-Rochester's well-known epigram on Charles II. is also quoted. But not so well known is the answer of the King, though it is not in verse,—" My words are my own, my acts are ray Ministers'."

Dryden's verse on Milton compared with Homer and Virgil was inevitable; yet any criticism more foolish was probably never penned. First, to say that Homer surpassed in "lofti- ness of thought," and then that Milton was a compound of Homer and Virgil, argues a singular inability to see the real merit of any one of the three.

Surely somewhat too high a value is set here on the -epigrams of Ben Jonson. Many of the lines are most in- volved, and the run of the verse faulty. It is somewhat un- fortunate, too, that Jonson's fine poem, "To My Book," which ends thus-

" He that departs with his own honesty

For vulgar praise, doth it too dearly buy,"— is followed by the ensuing verse from the same writer

Martial thou gav'st far nobler epigrams To thy Domitian, than I can to my Tames; But in my royal subject I pass theo, Thou flatteedst thine, mine cannot flattered be."

Pope is fairly well represented here, and as a writer of epigrams, though not in the older and better sense, is unsur- passed. Unfortunately he rarely wrote separate epigrams, but his poems bristle with epigrammatic brilliance.

The " epitaph" is a nobler, graver, and sweeter exercise of thougkt than the epigram. The latter being addressed usually to the living admits of, and even demands, a certain barb, but the former is concerned either with the rapture of hope, or the calm of retrospection. On the second page of epitaphs we are met with Shakespeare's strange verse in Stratford Church. Though the most universal of our poets, still Shakespeare was English to the core. Undoubtedly he loved more than anything the old Warwickshire lanes and the

English flowers; and though this verse has about it a certain churlishness, it is, we think, typical of the man, and no

doubt represents a sincere feeling. Though we had occasion to object to the inclusion of Herrick earlier on, who would not welcome this exquisite verse here ?—

" Here she lies, a pretty bud, L ltely made of flesh and blood ; Who as soon fell fast asleep As her little eyes did peep. Give her strewings, but not stir The earth that lightly covers her."

It is interesting to compare the epitaphs on Shakespeare by Ben Jonson and Milton. That by Ben Jonson is a wonderful piece of writing, but we are not sure that Milton has not a finer line than any of Jonson's in- " Dear son of memory, great heir of fame."

The continual disputes and quarrels which seem to have always taken place between poets and their wives have here another example in Dryden :—

" Here lies my wife ; hero let her lie! Now she's at rest, and so am I."

We cannot understand why Wordsworth's "Poet's Epitaph" was omitted. Though an epitaph, it has all the deadly pungency of the best epigrams, and at least two lines are as beautiful as anything written in this form of verse :— " Come hither in thy hour of strength ! Or weak as is a breaking wave."

The whole poem is indeed the flower of epitaphs.