Complete Essays, Literary Criticism, Cryptography, Autography, Translations & Letters. Эдгар Аллан По

And he banned the water-goblins’ spite,

       For he saw around in the sweet moonshine,

       Their little wee faces above the brine,

       Grinning and laughing with all their might

       At the piteous hap of the Fairy wight.

      The poem “To a Friend” consists of fourteen Spenserian stanzas. They are fine spirited verses, and probably were not supposed by their author to be more. Stanza the fourth, although beginning nobly, concludes with that very common exemplification of the bathos, the illustrating natural objects of beauty or grandeur by references to the tinsel of artificiality.

      Oh! for a seat on Appalachia’s brow,

       That I might scan the glorious prospects round,

       Wild waving woods, and rolling floods below,

       Smooth level glades and fields with grain embrowned,

       High heaving hills, with tufted forests crowned,

       Rearing their tall tops to the heaven’s blue dome,

       And emerald isles, like banners green un-wound,

       Floating along the take, while round them roam

       Bright helms of billowy blue, and plumes of dancing foam.

      In the Extracts from Leon are passages not often surpassed in vigor of passionate thought and expression — and which induce us to believe not only that their author would have succeeded better in prose romance than in poetry, but that his attention would have naturally fallen into the former direction, had the Destroyer only spared him a little longer.

      This poem contains also lines of far greater poetic power than any to be found in the Culprit Fay. For example —

      The stars have lit in heaven their lamps of gold,

       The viewless dew falls lightly on the world;

       The gentle air that softly sweeps the leaves

       A strain of faint unearthly music weaves:

       As when the harp of heaven remotely plays,

       Or sygnets wail- or song of sorrowing fays

       That float amid the moonshine glimmerings pale,

On wings of woven air in some enchanted vale.10

      Niagara is objectionable in many respects, and in none more so than in its frequent inversions of language, and the artificial character of its versification. The invocation,

      Roar, raging torrent! and thou, mighty river,

       Pour thy white foam on the valley below!

       Frown ye dark mountains, &c.

      is ludicrous — and nothing more. In general, all such invocations have an air of the burlesque. In the present instance we may fancy the majestic Niagara replying, “Most assuredly I will roar, whether, worm! thou tellest me or not.”

      The American Flag commences with a collection of those bald conceits, which we have already shown to have no dependence whatever upon the Poetic Power — springing altogether from Comparison.

      When Freedom from her mountain height

       Unfurled her standard to the air,

       She tore the azure robe of night

       And set the stars of glory there.

       She mingled with its gorgeous dyes

       The milky baldric of the skies,

       And striped its pure celestrial white

       With streakings of the morning light;

       Then from his mansion in the sun

       She called her eagle bearer down

       And gave into his mighty hand

       The symbol of her chosen land.

      Let us reduce all this to plain English, and we have — what? Why, a flag, consisting of the “azure robe of night,” “set with stars of glory,” interspersed with “streaks of morning light,” relieved with a few pieces of “milky way,” and the whole carried by an “eagle bearer,” that is to say, an eagle ensign, who bears aloft this “symbol of our chosen land” in his “mighty hand,” by which we are to understand his claw. In the second stanza, “the thunder-drum of Heaven” is bathetic and grotesque in the highest degree — a commingling of the most sublime music of Heaven with the most utterly contemptible and common-place of Earth. The two concluding verses are in a better spirit, and might almost be supposed to be from a different hand. The images contained in the lines

      When Death careering on the gale

       Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,

       And frighted waves rush wildly back,

       Before the broadsides reeling rack,

      are of the highest order of Ideality. The deficiencies of the whole poem may be best estimated by reading it in connection with “Scots wha hae,” with the “Mariners of England,” or with “Hohenlinden.” It is indebted for its high and most undeserved reputation to our patriotism — not to our judgment.

      The remaining poems in Mr. Dearborn’s edition of Drake, are three Songs; Lines in an Album; Lines to a Lady; Lines on leaving New Rochelle; Hope; A Fragment; To-; To Eva; To a Lady; To Sarah; and Bronx. These are all poems of little compass, and with the exception of Bronx and a portion of the Fragment, they have no character distinctive from the mass of our current poetical literature. Bronx, however, is in our opinion, not only the best of the writings of Drake, but altogether a lofty and beautiful poem, upon which his admirers would do better to found a hope of the writer’s ultimate reputation than upon the niaiseries of the Culprit Fay. In the Fragment is to be found the finest individual passage in the volume before us, and we quote it as a proper finale to our review.

      Yes! thou art lovelier now than ever,

       How sweet’t would be when all the air

       In moonlight swims, along thy river

       To couch upon the grass, and hear

       Niagra’s everlasting voice

       Far in the deep blue west away,

       That dreamy and poetic noise

       We mark not in the glare of day,

       Oh! how unlike its torrent-cry,

       When o’er the brink the tide is driven,

       As if the vast and sheeted sky

       In thunder fell from Heaven.

      Halleck’s poetical powers appear to us essentially inferior, upon the whole, to those of his friend Drake. He has written nothing at all comparable to Bronx. By the hackneyed phrase, sportive elegance, we might possibly designate at once the general character of his writings and the very loftiest praise to which he is justly entitled.

      Alnwick Castle is an irregular poem of one hundred and twenty-eight lines — was written, as we are informed, in October 1822 — and is descriptive of a seat of the Duke of Northumberland, in Northumberlandshire, England. The effect of the first stanza is materially impaired by a defect in its grammatical arrangement. The fine lines,

      Home of the Percy’s high-born race,

       Home of their beautiful and brave,

       Alike their birth and burial place,

       Their cradle and their grave!

      are of the nature of an invocation, and thus require a continuation of the address to the “Home, &c.” We are consequently disappointed when the stanza proceeds with —

      Still sternly o’er the castle gate

       Their house’s Lion stands in state

       As in his proud departed hours;

       And warriors frown in stone on high,