Lynchburg Virginian. [volume] (Lynchburg [Va.]) 1829-185?, 1829-10-08
ON MODERN POETRY.
From the N'e,o York Courier,

rum Ht NctO lOTE courier.
Decline Of Poet,y-We admire sirs. Hemans
much-Very muCh--none more so, and her
power Is douby great insamuch as it is that
winch belongs peculiarly TO her sex. When
woman stands forth as the guidrr nf nations -
the willing instrument ofdestrnction aud death
when she mipgIes in The Discrimination. the
chlfanery, the intrigue, the suled faith OF
chblneis-qiibblng over the right aud shron,,
ing truth in error, till The brightest vision IS
blinded and the panest path grows dim
she may gam fame and name--hut what is
1t we feel that other sounds than the opprps.
sors shout and the waI of the vanqushed
shouia be music TO her heart And we sigh az
sue links with statesmen, for the shade that is
creeping over life's purest altar Retirement
IS her place, and when its bosom soltness
mineies with more lofty strains, she holds
pow'r which nothing else coma power which
only II should be her ambition to hold Han
10 each asprant in The paths of Literature
We know Mrs II. 10 be most conspicuou.
and most spend d-0ut while we admire HE
genus, we regret the direction in which il
pph's aud the peculiar tone il has given TO The
productions OF the day, and range as IT may
seem, Ne see, IN the powerful touches OF her
pen, Fastening of the hour whrn poetry sha II
ne 40 more. The most of her themes are
Of faci versIfed-Some good story told in mu
sical numbers, or some obsert alton expanded
1t is The bird on he rock. tapping his wings,
and pouring FORTH il is true, the .ull exquisite
tide OF song, never heess chained to earth,
dull earth. Why not spread his pinion to The
bonn ilessness Of space, to the invisible world
why forever lettering f}ncy o cold res lie, In
p'npor ion - her light IS brlght who leads the
why, thf crowd will not be slow t. folow-and
beautiful though that intellectual roy TIA made
II, il is path which has Fl the wild Il 10, aud
the deep gloom, the may laiyriuths where
thought eigh'sto wander for the rvennass
OF every day lIf' Aud in another age, Reason
and Philosophy may triumph, Science may
boast stars far more brilliant than he sang line
predict; but poetry, beautiful poetry, with lis
thrilling chords-phetry, genuine poetry, thai
chilled with horror, or melted into tears, OF
burned with rature-poery, will have passed
away forever. We are we'll aware that from
the nature of fittings, all this could only be re.
tarded. Its aspect has long been altering At
first It's machinery was a. supernatural, spin,
of good and evil who, if they held any inter
course with earth. chose The dark forest and
the misty mountain, and above all the witching
hour OF midnight. Death warnings came on
the breeze of Summer aud the blast OF Winter.
Many lonely spot was hallowed by the revels
oil unearhlies,and erraiic imagination delighted
10 join them as they swept through the clouds
or fathomed the ocean, or traversed space
which was before time or that which will he al
ter it. Such were the themes that frs warm.
ed to song.
The next age saw il located on earth. with
human agents and events within the sphere of
possibility, but still the mag ician creative fan
cy, uniting and refining the terrific the great,
and the beautiful, often beyond nature, il is
true, but in that only gratifying the ntellcctu-
al thirst which seeks things the world cannot
give.
Another change has brought il down to real
life-the plot, the very actors, things in &C.
tuai existence Fancy has 40 farther office.
except TO dress a sentiment. The poet need
seek no longer the haunted cave, the cloud ca pit
hill-he will take US no more to the mighty
things that may be-he has left his spel--bound
fields for the every day occurrences Of life. All
this may give new charm to household plea
sures it may brighten the calm current of do.
mestic bliss, but it clips the eagle wing of
thought il is the paralizing of Imagination
it is the grave Of poetry.
The age of passion is indeed past. A mate.
rial change is creeping over the mental world.
Man has become cool, calcul ating n easonins
being, no longer Hppalledspf astonished al pine
ncmena that once wrought on his most power
iul feelings. Science has lief othing uniouch
ed-noihing unexplained The red bolt oi
| heaven is gathered in bottle, and the ,hauder
| rolls and cracks and crashes over us, without
making thrill because we are taught that il is
, harmless The lights of The charnel house
| the forms that hover round the mountain top
the voices that GIl the blast and sighs thro ug
the cavern of Heaven, are nothing. We have
slid from the breast of superstition, and wher
| we fam would gather inspiration from the hen
Of her garment, faith is wanting. N----A.