New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1844-01-30
THE r r IB u N E .
r evlews
Loyell's Poems.

LowelIs Poems.
It is refreshing to take up a new volume Of
noems that is mans heart written out. There
is no one, however humble, but becomes an OBJ
iect of interest if he only has the honesty, the
power, and the fearlessness to give US himself
his better thoughts and inward musings uttered
aloud. Look into thine own heart, and then
write is an old maxim, though seldom followed.
The curse of man is fear. He writes for others,
and not to unburden himsef-puts himself in his
best attitudes SO as to please this great pit the
world, and not be Kissed off the stage, But Mr..
Lowell is not one of these characters. He
dreams aloud, and his thoughts are a mere tissue
spread over his heart, through which you see all
it's beatings. For this reason we love him, II for
no other. But he has also a genuine poets
heart that will bear looking at. Yet though Mr.
Lowell writes such poetry as we love to read and
such as pleases our tastc 1t IS not the highest
kind of poetry. 1t tells US rather what we are
than spurs us on to high conference.-the makes
us more inclined to dream than act it takes
from the practical and adds to the ideal. But
this he cannot help. If he should undertake to
write a Paradise Lost, he would only fail. This
very decateness is part Of his nature. He has
refined and sensitive, rather than strong and
vigorous spirit. His imagination plays around
the beautiful rather than the sublime and gives
sweet things that rayish the heart, rather than
startling things that stir it like trumpet call
When once kndled, the mans soul seems to float
in a sea Of beauty, and images come thronging
to it, so that the difficulty seems TO be, to know
what to eject, rather than what to take. This
delicate, refined, luxurious imagination is a part
of his nature, andhe should be judged by his kind
and not by general standard. The longest
poem in this volume, A Legend of Brittany is
characterized by great sweetness beauty and
ease of style 1t gives, also, Mr.. Lowell fair
opportunity Of showing his descriptive powers as
a poet. We do not like the plan however The
old hum drum story Of a woman of strong heart
and weak principles falling in love with a fine
looking, dark soued, mysterious scoundrel, who
SO fascinates her that she sees nothing but the
divinest beauty in surrendering her chastity to
him, we never liked and should be heartily tired
of by this time if we did. And then to end the af-
fair in the newspaper paragraph style of bloody
murder, is worse yet We lose our respect for
a.woman who crowns her love, by uncrownng
womanhood and virtue. The most charitable
construction we can put upon her, is to say she
had more passion than brains, and more affection
than moral feeling And, as are just now in
the fault finding mood, we will finish what we
have to say. Another fault in Mr.. Lowell's po
ems is the strange and unheard-of words he in
PRODUCES. We are not squeamlsh on this point,
and prefer good new made Saxon word to an
old Latin one, and matchmaking is habit a
German scholar most naturally falls into. But
Mr.. Lowell carries it to excess, SO that it looks
affected and often conceited and fnical. Glad
lest for gladdes when there is not even the ex-
cuse of the need of another syllable, to perfect the
line, 'trembly wave mistiy golden deep
brimmed his ear, whiere,' unruth,' floods Of
mellow thunder undazed eyes, &c, are i'm
pardonable, and vet all these occur in the first
poem.
Yet these are but small excrescences. The
work before us is full of beautiful thoughts and
sparkles in every page with the brightest imagery.
Mr.. Lowell is somewhat of the transcendenta
able to see no sense nor meaning in some of his
finest passages
The following description OF heavy organ-nusic
in vast Cathedral is original, and to him who
has heard it full of truth:
THEN swelled the organ up through choir and nave
The music trembled with an inward thrill
Ofbliss at its own grandeur: wave on wave
Its food of mellow thunder rose, until
The hushed air shivered with the throb II gave,
Then, posing for moment, II stood suil,
And sank and rose again, TO burst in spray
That wandered into silence far away.
Like to a mighty heart the music seemed,
rTha, yearns with melodies il cannot speak,
Until, in grand despair of what ii dreamed,
In the agony of effort il doth break,
YET triumphs breaking or it rushed and streamed
And wantoned i'll its might, as when a lake,
Long pent among the mountains bursts Its walls,
And in one crowding gush leaps forth and falls.
Rosalinc is already widely known. This poem
exhibits perhaps more than any other, MIR. Low
ell's strongest powers. 1t is terrible concep-
ton. and then its fearful scenes are told with
such terrible calmness that they startle one more
than the fierccst excitement. 1t is like Byron's
Darkness, quiet, vivid and heart chilling.
The following poem is written perhaps in MIR.
Lowells more natural vein. 1t comes leapng
out of his heart like stream from its fountain,
and is full of beautiful imagery and natural ex-
preston
FORGETFULNESS.