The Sun.
London, England, 1849-01-27 00:00:00

LITERAT URE.
POE,IIS. By Eliza Cook. Vol. 111.
Christian Andersen has very beautifully and
truthfully observed, that while u narrative of ad-
ventures is read once and laid aside for ever, those
works which are imbued with the true poetry of
nature are read again and again and with pleasure—
" one comes from them refreshed, as
.from a ramble in
the woods in spring." It were impossible to pronounce
a more appropriate comment on the poetry of Eliza
Cook, and at the same time a more noble eulogium,
than is conveyed in this sentence of the Danish writer.
The great charm of Eliza Cook's poetry, as its
universal popularity may testify, is its exquisite
naturalness--it gushes spontaneously from the writer's
heart, and therefore it steals irresistibly to the hearts
of all who read it. Miss Cook has rightly recognised
what is the high mission of the poet, and cheerfully
has that mission been accepted. Her muse is never
at a loss to find

" Tongues in the trees, books in the running brook,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything."
" And good in everything;" witness, for example, her
earnest and most persuasive exhortation to those who
despise things of low estate :----
" THERE IS NOTHING IN VAIN.
" We may question the locust toat darkens the land,
And the snake, flinging arrows of death from its eye;
But remember they come from the Infinite Hand,
And shall man in his littleness dare to ask why?
Ohl let us not speak of the " useless" or " vile,"
They may seem so to us—but be slow to arraign:
From the savage welt's cry to the happy child's smile,
From the mite to the mammoth there's nothing in
vain."

Similar in spirit are two beautiful poems, " Let not
the Sun go down upon your Wrath," and " He that
is without Sin among you let him first cast a Stone."
Some of the stanzas in this volume have been occa-
sioned by recent political events, such as the " Song
to the People of England," and " There's a hero in
the South"—

" All honour to the Pope,
Long life and fame to Pius,
The world's heart still may hope,
While such as he stand by us."
And again the lines " To Alphonse de Lamartine"-
-" The gentle poet, one
With heart all mercy, and with speech all truth,
Whose lays we love to hear at set of sun,
Breathed by some happy maid, or dreaming youth."
Some of the most exquisite verses in this collection
are those which may be entitled songs of the affec-
tions. These are fraught with such a depth of ten-
derness and such unaffected simplicity, that their
charm is irresistible. One of the best of these is
entitled " Don't you Remember ?" The chief effect
of this piece is produced by the repetition at the end
of every verse of the momentous question—e. g. :
" We return to the spot where our Infancy gambolled,
We linger once more in the haunts of our youth,
We re-tread where young Passion first stealthily rambled,
And whispers are heard full of Nature and Truth,_
Saying, ' Don't you Remember 7"
"Praise carved on the marble is often deceiving,
The gaze of the stranger is all it may claim,
But the strongest of love and the purest of grieving
Are heard when lips dwell on the missing one's name,
Saying, ' Don't you remember?' "
The most beautiful of these songs of the affections is,
however, suggested by "An Old 'rune"—it is one of
those touches of nature which makes the whole world
kin. With this quotation we, for the present, take
leave of this popular poetess, whose greatest praise is
due to her right appreciation of that title.

" AN OLD TUNE.
To C. C.
" Dost thou remember when we roved in Summer's
glowing prime,
While Friendship's sacred bells rung out a soft and
merry chime ?
Dost thou remember where we stood beneath the old
elm boughs,
With laughing speech upon our lips and mirth upon our
brows?
Dost thou remember singing there, in wild and fiftful
tone,
A melody of bygone days—one of sweet Nature's own?
Dost thou remember, Lady, when the topmost leaf was
green,
Hushing the ring-dove overhead with Jock o' Hazel-
dean ?
" Oh, little didst thou know the spell that old tune had
for me,
A mist came o'er the broad blue air, a dimness round
the tree,
I knew the branch was still as bright, I knew the sky
was clear,
But I was breathing through a sigh and gazing through
a tear.
That old tune brought a busy crowd of shadows to my
side,
It flung a narrow flood-gate back that let in Memory's
tide.
Quick visions came upon my heart of all that once had
been,
When other lips enchained my ear with Jock o' Hazer
dean.'