New-York daily tribune., 1843-12-23
The T RIB y n E
Aiterarp Notices

,.n5aome style, and enbesshcd It with beaut-
=, o,gray;ngs We love to lay our hands On
-ood book, got up with care, as every good book
s7,rb, to be. Miss Cook has been for a long
,noa p contributor to the English Magazines
,rt she is probably best known IN this country
t,or The Old Arm Char and / Love the
Free, as sung by Russell-one all beauty, and
the other all FIRE.
Melaia, the chief poem IN thls volume, Is
.orv Of Prince, betrayed and deserted by all
evceDt his faithful dog, who followed and succor
I'd him through long fugitive life After the
death Of the dog, the wandering Prince goes to a
sculptor to get nm wrought in marble. The
-.f1sal of the sculptor to employ his genius on so
unworthy an object elcits the narrative, which
e told with much vi vidness and pathos. The
ooening Of the poem is rather prosy, and 1t hard
" escapes this fault until the Prince is on his
stsed without the city walls and fleeing like an
arrow through the night and towards the desert.
The poem then rises in strength and power and
ca,hos even TO its close. One Of the incidents is
managed with great deal Of skill. The faith
full dog is not sent off with his master on his
fight But full Of despair at the trcachery Of his
own wife, whom his love had raised from poverty,
he burst away from every tie, and fed, pursued
ony by those who sought his life. With a night
within, wilder than the light around him, he fed
hopelessly on, when suddenly through the gloom
and darkness far, far behind, came the deep bay
of his faithful hound. To have seen the dog
fleeing beside his master, his only remaining
friend, would have been touching, and yet what
any one might have thought of; but to arrest that
desperate fugitive in lis career by the voice Of
nj, hound, springing with his long steady gallop
on the track, as if calling out to HIM through the
darkness, with the voice Of affection, higher
poetic conception. In the mans desperate ride,
however we could not but think the writer had
read Mazeppa, with an eye to this very poem
The steady attachment Of the dog is related with
qrest pathos, and we feel that the sculptor must
say yes when addressed
"I We told thee how he bore and bravcd
The darkest cheGuer ii MY lot
You know his worth; he served and saved.
Now, wilt thou car"e my dog CT not
i::iss Cook is spirited writer, and her umagh-
s,lon pure and healthy as the song of the lark
We like her ior this and also for using our good
Saxon 50 much Like Mr.. Halleck. che avoids
latin derivatives with scdulous care, or else cs-
capes them through natural good taste. This
dkes away from the dreamy nature oi her Poems
saa gives to her language d!rectness and force
that il could not otherwise possess. Her writings
,l,c, Il. ,S
perfect health. and who has seer precious little
sorrow. Such indeed she IL. Her eAcitements
are neve, deep and cahauatIng, but gay and
bounding and her measure and language catch
The spirit Of this excitment, and 90 leaplng on
like free streamlet We venture to say she
laughs hundred times. where she weeps once
She is never pictured to cur fancy except with
an armful of curls dangling around her neck, and
tra ra le on her lips. Such persons are like
patches of sunshine on the earth, and get we do
not place them III the highest ranks OF genius
Their poetry is excited almost entirely by eXter-
nal objects; and never causes US to muse deeply
on our own nature and its hidden mysteries OF
feeling and passion. They ara not teachers OF
their age Another great defect is lack of ina
gerry Her imagination when excited does not
seem so much to furnish her with q crowd OF I'M
ages as to convey simply clearer and more
vivid conception of what she had contemplated
before.
But we are chained and fettered by room and
must stop The volume is full OF sweet poetry
and is a valuable accession to our literature. We
designed to have quoted several things, but must
deny ourselves the pleasure, We will however
extract few verses from "The Old Barn, since
she has drawn poetry from it. They exhibit ad'
mrsbly the character of her mind
THE OLD BARN,
The barn. the cid barn. Oh It's dark walls were rlie
With The records most tair in my tablet of life;
And rare barn II was, for search twenty miles round
Such another brave building was not to DC found.
Twas large as an ark, twas strong as g church,
Twas the chickens resort twas the Young raven
perch;
There the BAT tapped his wing. and the owlet might
screech,
Secure IN the sable-ends, far on, OF reach.
L was evident Time had been playing his pranks
With the moss -garrished roof and the storm-beaten
Planks
For many veal had the haYyest-home VAIN
Creaked up to The door with the las, load of grain.
wee thing, they tumbled Inc into It's NOV,
And left me to scramble out, Heaven knows how
a Wild merry girl, the old barn was the spot
Which afforded delight that is still pnforgo,.
amelry heart then-but scarcely know why
.E should look into Memory page with sigh
W. Is unsratetul to turn TO the past with regret,
Wien we hold fair portion of happiness yet.
ny y laugh in that day was spirited shout,
put salt it is heard TO ring ioyously out;
Ay trends were the warmest thar childhood could
ind
But those round my still, are endearinsly kind
iHE REcrosr OF VALEAE.p: b. the iie,. RosER1
Wilson Evans Vi. 4. From the Twelfth Ensiish