The Real and Ideal. Poems, by Arthur Llewellyn. (Hurst and
Blackett.)—This rather ambitious-looking volume consists of a collec- tion of fugitive poems, the language of which is, for the most part, tolerably sonorous and imposing, even when it fails, as it occasionally does, to place beyond a doubt the meaning which it is intended to convoy. Mr. Llewellyn's verses appear to us to be partly descrip- tive and partly psychological ; and we can scarcely give a better idea of their quality than by placing before the reader a sample of each kind. Our psychological extract is taken from a poem on "Spring Time."
"Nothing can destroy Those raptures visionary,
That haunt us as we go, still questioning Truth of each bright created thing—
The Why? the Wherefore ? Whither ? The answer ever- Thither.'
The fiery spark, the intellectual gleam Within us, whispers, 'Life is not a dream.'" For our descriptive sample we will take the closing lines of an "Address to Night :"— " The lightning quivers tangled in the clouds,
Ghastly the glare reflected on the waves ! The air above gleams like a glassy sea, Burning with sunset's gold and crimson glow; The rambling thunder-car rolls on and on, Showering down darkness—deeper, deeper, now Profound as an eclipse, through space—
Ha! there's another flash ! "
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