The Sun.
London, England, 1859-07-13 00:00:00

The Three Palaces, and other Poems. By James
Orton, author of " The Enthusiast," &c. Bos-
worth and Harrison.
The chief object with the majority of the young
poets of the present day is to astonish, to amaze,
and to mystify, or, if such be not their avowed
object, it is certainly the effect produced on the
mind of many a bewildered reader. Suffering from
many a painful experience of this kind, it is to us
peculiarly refreshing to meet with any aspirant to
the bay-wreath who will condescend to be natural,
whose homely muse breathing the language of
true emotion, now thrilling with tenderness, now
melting with pathos, can arouse the sympathy of
the heart and captivate the imagination of the
reader. Such praise, in no measured degree, may
be awarded to Mr. Orton. His poems are real—
his feelings are earnest. He does not pause to
select the most appropriate epithet, the most choice
expression, but "out of the fulness of the heart"
his verses are poured forth. Immeasurably the best
stanzas in this volume, those filled with the most
poetic spirit, and clothed in the most harmonious
language have been written under the influence of
a heavy bereavement. So true is it, as Shelley
sings of poets—
" They learn in suffering what they teach in song."
Those " chords which vibrate sweetest pleasure"
on the enraptured ear of the listener, too often
" thrill with deepest notes of woe" from the an-
guished heart that gives them utterance. The
poems to which we allude in this instance are dedi-
cated to the memory of Mr. Orton's young wife,
snatched from him in the early days of their union.
One entitled "Julia," commences—
Oh once my soul was filled with light,
And once my heart was filled with flowers ;
The light hath fled—the flowers are dead,
And she is in the angel-bowers.
Another, " To Johnny," will find a responsive echo
in many a sympathetic heart. It has that " touch
of nature which makes the whole world kin."
TO JOHNNY.
Come hither, darling boy I
Come hither in thy joy,
For the flood of tears is sweeping athwart thy father's soul ;
For this great and solemn sadness
Hath blotted out all gladness,
And I hear throughout Life's cavern the blackened waters
roll.

Come hither in thy joy,
In thy bliss without alloy,
And murmur that sweet name which hath left my lips for
ever.
In my soul alone it dwelleth,
Where the spring of tears upwelleth,
But 'twere sweet to hear that sainted name on guileless
lips for ever.
•

Go—leave me in thy joy,
With thy loved and broken toy,
Why let thee dream of woe which belongeth to another?
Too soon that joy will fail,
Too soon thou'lt hear that tale,
How the ancient sleep of humankind came down upon thy
mother.

Among the miscellaneous poems, one full of music
and melody, entitled " Old England's Sabbath-
Bells," begins—

OLD ENGLAND'S SABBATH-BELLS.
Oh 1 again I hear the ringing,
Hear the grand and joyous swinging,
The loud clear silver ringing of Old England's Sabbath-
bells ;
Now loud—now faintly chiming,
Like the sweet, sad antique rhyming
Which through the ancient poet-realms so sadly, sweetly
swells.
Another most effective little poem, " The Doctor's
Watch," will 170 read with a mournful interest and
apprecipt;on by all who have watched by the bed-
siac of some suffering friend :
I hate the sound of the Doctor's watch
As it ticks so solemn and slow ;
In every beat ye hear the feet
Of the hopes that come and go.
" The Three Palaces," which gives its name to the
volume, is an exquisitely beautiful allegory—
verified, as this volume itself would indicate, in
the author's life. The first Palace is "Mind-built,"•
and produces only those barren and hollow plea-
sures which result in vanity and vexation of
spirit. The second is "Heart-built," and for
awhile fills its possessor with love and peace :

The seasons came and went,
And sweet babes nestled on that saintly breast;
My wine of life ran red,
And ruby-tinged lay all the land of peace and rest.
God spake—(the deed was done) :
" Not thus—not thus—the race ordained is run;"
He took my earthly sun,
And night came down when day had scarce begun.
Once more another Palace is erected, and this time
a " temple not made with hands"—" Faith-built,"
in which the saddened " heart" and wearied "mind"
find at length true happiness and repose. One of
the latest poems in the collection, " Sunset to Sun-
rise," would induce us to believe that I* grief
which has overshadowed the heart of the 'miter is
yielding to new influences of hope, and an earnest
ambition to perform worthily his part in the battle-
of life. Heartily do we wish him God-speed.
Recognising the beauties scattered over these pages ;
observing, moreover, the tender susceptibility of
heart, the dauntless energy of purpose, and, above
all, the profound religious sentiments which charac-
terise the author, we are fain to regard " The Three
Palaces" only as the harbinger of some more ambi-
tious effort, and some yet greater achievement from
the hand of Mr. Orton.