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Nov. 1, 1851.] <fff>e 3Le&fr*?< 1045
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POEMS BY BEDDOES. The Poems Posthumous a...
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MEILY'S KI1AUTOUM AND THE NIL.KS. Kharto...
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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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Browne's Greek Literatu Re. ^ 2^1^ ° F C...
altere d our view of it . Those holding the opposite opinion will , however , be interested by his ^ AsVcritic Professor Browne does not shine . He , i largely in academic conventionalisms ; and verv often speaks either from no knowledge or from , ir 4 i vaeue remembrance as to be little better . Has he read Sappho since he left College ? If so , he niust permit us to express our surprise at his talking of her " nature-loving imagery , " and still 0 at hisadmitting the miserable trash of
m _ Ambrose Phillips as " faithful translations " of her two famous poems . How could he ever suppose that Sappho would have been famous if she had written like this ?—" In dewy damps my limbs were chill ' d , My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd , My feeble pulse forgot to play , I fainted , sank , and died away . "
"We beg him to turn to his Greek , and see what Sapp ho did write ; he will then know what to think of " faithful translations . " We shall not continue this examination of details , because a work like the present must be judged rather in its totality than in detail ; we cordially commend it as a general view of the subject . The task it attempts is so gigantic , that " honourable mention" may be fairly awarded where the prize is withheld ; without satisfying the demands of criticism , it may , nevertheless , earn the praise of being- a meritorious and useful work . It brings into convenient compass materials which lie scattered broad cast over the-great field of literary
research , and to the public at large it will be welcome as the first comprehensive view of the whole Literature of Greece which has yet been published .
Nov. 1, 1851.] <Fff>E 3le&Fr*?< 1045
Nov . 1 , 1851 . ] < fff > e 3 Le & fr *?< 1045
Poems By Beddoes. The Poems Posthumous A...
POEMS BY BEDDOES . The Poems Posthumous and Collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes . In 2 voIb . Pickering . These are very interesting volumes . The amount of poetic beauty they contain should earn them a place in every collection of choice works ; while to the poetic student they will be peculiarly interesting , their very defects suggesting trains of thought at once profitable and pleasing . To those , and they are the greatest number , who regard imagery as the main thing in a poem , who look upon the gift of poetic expression as the highest of
endowments , Beddoes will assuredly appear a very considerable poet . The factitious admiration which has been excited for the Old English Dramatists will find here matter for further ecstasy . There are passages" in these volumes equal in beauty and tragic intensity to almost anything which has a place in Lamb ' s Specimens . What then ? Do they prove that Beddoes was a great Poet ? They simply prove that Beddoes could write splendid passages ; if you imagine that he who wrote these passages could have written fine works , we refer you to the collected edition of his works for ample
proof of the contrary . Like many other wielders of grand sonorous diction , like many others with the gift of " imagery" ( we will not say imagination ) , Beddoes exhibits , when you pierce beneath the glittering surface , a mind essentially mediocre . Take up his works and consider them from any point of view you will , except the rhetorical , and they arc undistinguished from the mass of mediocre poems which yearly issue from the press . This jud gment will sound harsh in the face of the high
eulogiiin which theso poems have called forth . It | h , however , perfectly deliberate ; and we leave it in the hands of impartial readers , if they will trouble themselves to examine the poems . Here are dramas without any one quality of dramatic ¦ u'l , cvcv . pt , that power of expression which we huve before said they possess in unusual intensity . Ah Tories they are childish , beyond even what dramatic licence can tolerate . In the delineation of character , the wetting iri action of passions and Motives , and all those individualizing traits which
•»« Hummed up in the word " characterization , " "eddotjn stands on precisely the anme level as those Numberless young gentlemen—" mostly fools "who gratif y the " desire of frienUs " by publishing » V {) acts of blank vcrne , supposed to be examples ot KhukHpcariun art . In our time wo have read \ Un Y , why hesitate in confessing that we have also written r )—fl ft . arfui amount of such ; their charj « : ti ! riHticH are vividly remembered by us , the more ** ° a « they have all a strong famil y resemblance . A "d although wo cannot forget the superiority "nil HeddooH manifests in one important quality , wo mum , nevertheless , deliberatel y asnert that in uspect of dramatic art ho is on the buiuo level aa
they are . Beddoes never pays Nature the compliment of attempting to copy her . In the alembic of his wild imagination , Nature becomes transmuted into Phantasms ; and we should throw aside the book in weariness and disgust , were it not for that singular and fascinating power he has of investing his Phantasms in a garb of beauty . Not only the high rare power of characterization , and the rare , yet lower one , of representing Life , do we utterly deny to Beddoes . He might want
these and be a considerable writer nevertheless . We go further , and deny him the possession of that degree of intellectual vigour which manifests itself in all poets of worth , as thoughtfulness or judgment . There is a great quantity of reflective writing in these volumes , yet we scarcely remember one new thought—one passage which bore the stamp of a superior intelligence . The imagery is new , the thoughts have no value . His intellect is active—morbidly so—but not deep-seeing .
Denying him the qualities which constitute all fine poets , and separating ourselves widely from those critics who have spoken of him as only fine poets deserve to be , we must nevertheless justify their admiration and our own , by exhibiting the power Beddoes does possess . In the remainder of our criticism we shall consider him sui generis . You cannot open the volumes at random and read for many pages without being struck by the unusual intensity of the imagery , and poetic emotion which pulses through the verse . The sombre and painful cast of his thoughts , every now and then bursting forth into impassioned and somewhat lurid magnificence , next arrests your attention . You perceive that his mind is morbid . A taint as
of the charnel house rises from the page . The imagery moves amidst graves and skeletons . There is little sunlight ; it gives place to moonlight , and the moon is shining upon broken tombs . Death i § the great figure moving through this world ; Death—and the Moral Death called Villainy—for which Life and Love are used but as foils of contrast . His hymns are dirges : his love songs have the plaintive wail of despair . To read his poems is like passing through galleries filled with Spanish pictures—endless variations of the theme of Death Nothing but crucifixions , or emaciated monks seated in lonel y sorrow gazing at a skull 1 Everywhere the Shadow of Death chilling the fair aspect of sunny Life !
Here are some samples : — " Marc , ( solus . } Then who hath solitude , like mine , that is not The last survivor of a city's plague , Eating the mess he cooked for his dead father ? Who is alone but I ? there ' s fellowship , In churchyards and in hell : but I !—no lady ' s ghost Did ever cling with such a grasp of lovo Unto its soft dear body , as I hung
Rooted upon this brother . I went forth Joyfully , as the soul of one who closes Ilia pillowed eyes beside an unseen micrdcrer , And like its horrible return was mine , To find the heart , wherein I breathed and beat , Cold , gashed , and dead . Let me forget to love , And take a heart of venom : let me make A stair-case of the frightened breasts of men , And climb into a lonely happiness !
Again : —¦ " Ermin . Had I been waked By torchlight in my cy « s , and by a voice That said ' your babes are burning , stabbed y > ur husband , —¦ Room on your bosom for their murderer's kisses ! ' Why , that to this were tickling to a stab , A pin-wound to an hell-jawed , laughing gush . " Again : —
" ANTICIPATION OF I ' . yU . TIDINGS . " I fear there is somo maddening secret Hid in your words ( and at each turn of thought Comes up a scull ) , like an anatomy Found in a weedy hole , ' mongst stones and roots And straggling reptiles , with his tonguelcss mouth Telling of murder . In short , Beddoew seems to bo speaking through one of bin characters when he makes him say" Methinks The look of the worlri ' ti a lie , a face made up O ' er graven and fiery depths : and nothing ' s true JJut what is horrible . " We will add to these examples an exquisite passago : —•
" Lady . And therefore earth and all itfl ornaments , Which are the symbols of humanity In forms refined , und effort * uncompleted , ( Jraeeful and innocent , temper the heart Of him who mu « c 8 and comparea them , skilfully ,
To glad belief and tearful gratitude . This is the sacred source of poesy " Sybil . While we are young , and free from care , we think so . But , when old age or sorrow brings us nearer To spirits and their interests , we see Few features of mankind in outward nature ; But rather signs inviting us to heaven . I love flowers too ; not for a young girl ' s reason ,
But because these brief visitors to us Rise yearly from the neighbourhood of the dead , To show us how far fairer and more lovely Their world is ,- and return thither again , Like parting friends that beckon us to follow , Arid lead the way silent and smilingly . Fair is the season when they come to us , Unfolding the delights of that existence Which is below us : " tis the time of spirits , Who with the flowers , and like them , leave their
graves : But when the earth is sealed , and none dare come Upwards to cheer us , and man ' s left alone , We have cold , cutting winter . For no bridal , Excepting with the grave , are flowers fit emblems . " We hope you have admired the sad beauty of these lines , and noted how even the flowers only recal to him the " neighbourhood of the dead" ; and now read this on Immortality : —
" Can Wolfram die ? Ay , as the sun doth set It is the earth that falls away from light ; Fixed in the heavens , although unseen by us , The immortal life and light remain triumphant And therefore you shall never see me wail , Or drop base waters of an ebbing sorrow ; No wringing hands , no sighings , no despair , No mourning weeds will I betake me to ;
But keep my thought of him that is no more , As secret as great nature keeps his soul , From all the world ; and consecrate my being . To that divinest hope , which none can hnow of Who have not laid their dearest in the grave . Farewell , my love , —I will not say to thee Pale corpse , —we do not part for many days . A little sleep , a little waking more , And then we are together out of life . "
We close these passages with another on Deathto show how he rings the changes on Ms constant theme : —
" sweet to die . " Is it notsweet to die ? for , what is death , But sighing that we ne ' er may sigh again , Getting at length beyond our tedious selves ; But trampling the last tear from poisonous sorrow , Spilling our woes , crushing our frozen hopes , And passing like an incense out of man ? Then , if the body felt , what were its sense . Turning to daisies gently hi the grave , If not the soul's most delicate delight When it does filtrate , through the pores of thought , In love and the enamelled flowers of song ?"
We must reserve for a future number the extracts which will show his genius under other aspects . If we have insisted somewhat on this one aspect of Death , it is because it is predominant in his poems , and indicates a morbid activity of mind .
Meily's Ki1autoum And The Nil.Ks. Kharto...
MEILY ' S KI 1 AUTOUM AND THE NIL . KS . Khartoum , and the Blue and White JViles . By George Melly " Tola . Colburn and Co . ( Seco ? ul Notice . } We resume our extracts from this agreeable book , although limitations of space forbid our quoting hulf the passages we had marked . Miss Martineau was the first to give our prepossessions in favour of the Camel a shock , and we hardly thanked her for it , though never doubting that her statement was nearer the truth than those eulogistic pictures of meekness and endurance which had t ( iveii us our ideas of the Camel . Mr . Melly , though not quite so harsh to the " Ship of the Desert , " is decidedly for protesting against the current notions . "My earliest recollections of them are based on those veracious publications , in which elephants pick up young children and place them carefull y on their backs , and camels gallop for days unrepiningly over sandy deserts , never halting , though without both food und water—such are the camels of our tender years , such aro not the camels of our experience . Instead of this poetic patience , they growl savagely , making one of the most disagreeable iioibcm I ever heard , and turn round striving to fj ; et up as you load them . . But when once their burden in properly adjusted thoy are perfectly quiet , and become tractable as soon as you have taken your seat .
• ' I hud a camel from Dongola to Oebel Berkel , who would not let me turn on my aaddle or put my hand in my pocket without turning viciously round with a fierce growl . I had another that by way of contrast would walk quietly to within shot of a covoy
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Citation
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Leader (1850-1860), Nov. 1, 1851, page 17, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse2.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/cld_01111851/page/17/
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