The Press.
London, England, 1857-02-07 00:00:00

THE PRESS:

study of fourteen or fifteen volumes like those
before us, we must confess we grow less reliant
on our power of distinguishing minor shades
of difference. However, we must do our best.

The poems of Mr. Capern, the postman of
Bideford (1), are evidently the production done
with an innate admiration for the beauties of
Nature, and the faculty of expressing what is
felt in verse with case and promptitude.
There is evidence that metre is to him a spon-
taneous form of utterance—qued tentat dicere,
versus est. There is nothing which strikes us
as forced or artificial in his writings. Opinions
may differ about the quality of the fruit, but
it is at least natural, and grows with healthy
abundance. Another favourable feature is
that lie has almost entirely confined himself
to those subjects upon which he may fairly be
considered as good a judge as his more
educated brethren. There can, indeed, be no
doubt that it would be wrong to consider the
author of these poems as an uneducated man
in the ordinary sense of the term. His taste
must have been developed by books, though
he may have had no opportunities of deep
study. We mean, therefore, that he has had
the good sense to steer clear of religious or
political topics, and has satisfied himself with
the native outpourings of his own genius—the
praises of woods, rivers, and flowers—the
various beauties of the seasons—the songs of
birds—and all the many sights and sounds
of rural life, which he describes with a fresh-
ness, with an unaffected sympathy, and with
a carefulness of observation which remind us
sometimes of Wordsworth, but oftener of
something between Gilbert White and the
Ettrick Shepherd. Tho calm sadness of the
first, the naturalist propensities of the
second, and the loud joyousness of the third,
are all visible in his writings ; and it is diff►-
cult to say in which phase he is most agree-
able. As specimens of each we would recom-
mend to our readers " Affection's Argument"
(p. 10), " Christmas Tears " (p. 11), " The Fall
of the Brave" (p. 180), " The Old Gray
Thrush " (p 97), " Woodlands " (p. 180), and
" The Song of the Hop-pickers " (p. 192).
It is pleasant to think of the existence of
such a man as Mr. Capern, for we aro not
called upon to question the accuracy of the
impression conveyed to us by his poetry.
And we cordially agree with the writer of the
preface in hoping that no future indigence
will be permitted to mar the cheap and simple
happiness which he now enjoys at home
and abroad, both with his own family and
among the woods and lanes of his favourite
Devonshire.

" England in Timo of War" (2) is a poem
which demands a much more careful examina-
tion, and will receive at our hands a much
more mingled verdict. If we admit that it
contains passages of originality and vigour to
which the poet of Bideford has no pretensions,
it is also overlaid with affectation and frippery
from which he is totally exempt. If Mr.
Sydney Dobell improves, if he takes a good
turn, and his genius succeeds in throwing off
the malady which oppresses it, we think it
possible he may attain a high rank among
English poets. But then wo are bound to
confess that his disease seems to have so firm
a hold of him, that we fear such a result is
highly improbable. Wo are rather late in our
notice of his poems, and our readers will
probably have seen most of his leading pecu-
liarities noticed elsewhere. Of these the vice
of repetition is the most conspicuous, and
reaches to such an extent as to remind us
rather of a barrister hammering something
into tho minds of a country jury, than of a
poet addressing the only sort of audience
among which Mr. Dobell can hope to gain ad-
mirers. It. is useless to quote any instances
of this—the whole volume is one in itself ;
and tho effect is really so singular that we
hardly know how to speak of it. Like other
meretricious arts, it is not always displeasing,
though our judgment cannot approve it. The
following passage, front one of Mr. Do-
bell's most beautiful poems, entitled " home,
Wounded," is certainly an example of this.
The wounded man, apparently a cripple, is

(1) c,,pern's Poem. I.owlnn : Bogue.
(2) Enlond in Time qf War. By Sydney DobeU. London:
Smith and Elder.

SATURDAY,

talking to his brother, who is wheeling him
about in a chair on a fine April day :
Blare the trumpet and boom the gun,
But oh, to sit here thus in the sun,
To sit here, feeling my work is done,
While the sands of life so golden run,
And I watch the childrens' posies,
And my idle heart is whispering,
" Bring whatever the years may bring,
The flowers will blossom, the birds will sing,
And there'll always bo primroses."
Looking before me here in the sun,
I see the Aprils one after one,
Primrosed Aprils one by one,
Primrosed Aprils on and on,
Till the floating prospect closes
In golden glimmers that rise and rise,
And perhaps are gleams of Paradise,
And perhaps—too far for mortal eyes—
New years of fresh primroses,
Years of earth's primroses,
Springs to be, and springs for me
t if distant dim primroses.
My soul lies out like a tasking hound,
A hound that dreams and dozes ;
Along my life my length I lay,
1 fill to•morrow and yesterday,
I am warm with the suns that have long since set,
I am warm with the summers that are not yet,
And like one who dreams and dozes
Softly afloat on a sunny sea,
Two worlds are whispering over me,
And there blows a wind of roses
From the backward shore to the shore before,
From the shore before to the backward shore,
And like two clouds that meet and pour
Each thro' each, till core in core
A single self reposes,
The nevermore with the evermore
Above me mingles and closes ;
As my soul lies out like the basking hound,
And wherever it lies seems happy ground,
And when, awakened by some sweet sound,
A dreamy eye uncloses,
I see a blooming world around,
And I lie amid primroses—
Years of sweet primroses,
Springs of fresh primroses,
Springs to be, and springs for me
Of distant dim primroses.
There is the hand of a true poet in this ; even
its blemishes are not without a certain charm.
Exception may, indeed, be taken to the simile
with which the third paragraph opens. The
one point of resemblance, in itself farfetched,
is not sufficient to justify the use of so
grotesque au image. But the two succeeding
similes are singularly beautiful—perhaps
equal, if not superior, to anything within the
range of this school of poetry. The repetitions
are not unpleasant to the ear, however faulty
upon other grounds. But we strongly advise
the author to prune and chasten his style with
an unsparing hand. There are many of his
poems so disfigured by this and other pecu-
liarities as to be wholly unreadable. And
unless he shall exercise a more than ordinary
amount of self-denial and modesty, we fear he
will only add another to the list of last year's
failures.

The above arc the only two volumes in our
list which can pretend to any independent
merit.

The author of " Gethsemane " (3) has chosen
a noble subject. Let us sec how he has
treated it :
Quick rallying from their late alarm,
The soldiers seized him by the arm,
And with unmeet yet trembling haste
Their footsteps city-ward retraced.
The eight, who all this time had slept,
Forth from their hiding•places crept,
And joined the cavalcade, to know
Whereto this tragedy would grow.
But some with rashness spake the word,
" Lord, would'st thou have us use the sword ?"
When Peter suddenly revealed
liis weapon hitherto concealed,
And struck at one a deadly blow,
Which might have cleaved his head in two,
But Malchus, with instinctive fear,
Drew back and only lost an ear.
Which seems to have been added to Mr. Hor-
ton's own. " Felix " and the " Hebrew Melo-
dies" are of' the same stamp.
Mr. Shirley, author of " The Old Bridge, and
Other Poems " (4), writes very fair verses, and
has sense enough to avoid bathos. His trans-
lations are better than his original poems.
Those from Aristophancs, especially some of
the choruses, are clever. Among the German
wo should single out " The Vengeance of the
Flowers " as the prettiest and most musical.

(:;) Gethsemane, and Other l'"enti. By I. U. Iturton. Lundou :
Judd and 6 ha
(1) The Old Bridge, and Oiler Poems. Dy G. E. Shirley.
Rochester: Macaulay.

FEBRUARY 7,1857.

Mr. M'lloughall deserves higher praise.
His thoughtful and slow-running verses are
very pleasant reading. " Summer Scenes " (15
are very effectively finished, and the metre
excellent. We would pause longer in our
remarks did the volume contain anything
really distinctive. It does not do this ;
though the author is better than a mere
rhymester, and is evidently a man of some
power.

Of a long poem entitled " Vernon, a Tale of
the Sea" (6), we are sorry we can say nothing
favourable. We can only wonder that it was
ever written. A single specimen will explain
the character of this book better than any
criticism:—
In those events that we will now relate,
The grossest inconsistency is seen;
Mere lapse of time averts the sentenced fate
Of criminals—makes Justice kick the beam.
Mercy, so pond'rous in the legal scale,
Smiles upon whose accessories in guilt,
Swung in derision to the public rail;
They murder'd were—ur blood of these was spilt.
Some sixteen winters may have pass'd away
Since general commotion wildly stired
Our sweetest, p'raps our largest, colony ;
And sound of cannon's roar was often heard;
And armial men in frequent motion seen,
Some richly dress'd with epaulettes of gold,
In coats of red, with facings some of green ;
But buff and yellow, too, you might behold :
But there were others differing from these,
Though not the less they seeni'd on mischief bent,
Their garments torn perchance exposed their knees,
Or in less delicate positions rent.

Mrs., or Miss, Philipson—we have not the
pleasure of knowing which—writes very pretty
verses (7). The volume is dedicated to her
sisters, and its contents are just of that
nature to please a cultivated domestic circle.
If the authoress is not a real poetess, she is at
least a kind and amiable woman ; and the
gentle play of the affections is not always a
bad exchange for the loftiest, but frequently
less agreeable and natural strains, which pro-
ceed from more ambitious aspirants.
" Ugo Bassi " (8) is a tale of the Italian
Revolution, written principally in the octo-
syllabic metre, evincing considerable facility in
composition, and much of that refined senti-
ment which culture generates in minds of
delicate organisation. These two qualities
united will almost always succeed in the pro-
duction of verses so like poetry as to deceive
uncritical readers, and which even those who
are more exacting may skim without displea-
sure. Such is the character of " Ugo Bassi,"
which we dare say will find many readers, and
a certain number of admirers.

" The Rural Parsonage " (9) is the work, we
should suppose, of an educated gentleman
who has amused his leisure hours by commit-
ting to paper the pleasurable sensations which
men of taste experience in a country lite. His
mind is well stored with rural images, and he
hits noted, with the scrutiny of real affection,
the various aspects of Nature through all the
seasons of the year. His descriptive epithets
are often very happy, and his versification is
generally smooth. The following phrase
struck us a 3 singularly picturesque :

Though pleasing is it even now
Among the farms to roam,
Anil watch the steady steering plough
Rippir the level loam.

" The Pleasures of Home " (10) is a poem
written in the style of the " Pleasures " of
" Hope" and " Memory," and displays greater
mastery of the heroic measure than we are
accustomed to meet with at the present day.
This is its principal excellence; but it is in
our opinion not a small one. In point of
poetical ability all the foie• last upon our list
are nearly on a par; but there is no metre so
well adapted to carry off mediocrity, and to
gratify by sound alone, as the heroic. Not
that " The Pleasures of Home " is not full of
much that is tender, and graceful, and elegant;
but at the present time these words have
come to mean almost as little as writing

(5) Pnevin nnd Songs. Ily James M'llougludl. London: I tall,
Virtue, and Co.

(U) Vernon. A Poem. By 11. Bate. London: linli, Virtue,
and co.

(7) Era. A Romance in Rhyraz. 13y Caroline Giffurd Phi•
I pion. London: Mozon.
•-'

'(8) Uw Bassi. By :..ikeran7.l. London : Saunders and Otlyr.
(ii The nurol Parsonage. By at Clergyman. London: I fall,
Virtue, and Co.
(10) The Pleasures of Home. By the Boy. John Anderson.
'outrun : flail, Virtue, and Co.