New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1844-12-12
THE TRIBUNE
cranoh,s Poems.

Cranch's Poems.
Pofxs NJ GrniSTorrxr frIRsx CKAxcu. Phiadolphs,
We shosld regret that the pross of affairs has
Prevented an earlier notice of this little volume.
fit we're got that we thus gain leisure fcr de.
hferaio word, which its merits clam. Among
thsse, we should name first the close connection
bo.ne by the Poems to the habitusi life of the
writer's mind. Every cadence and infection of
he stream sets off its full and gentle uncersong
tho Soagc is fresh, but not so profuse as to hide
the structure of the tree.
This Is no common merit now, when SO much
verse is written from the car rather than the
mind, when so much may be esteemed product
ofolntstock in literature at large, rather than of
any one mind. In this book arc no nero phrases,
no rhymes which the ear predicts as customary,
but both thoughts and style lave the healthy
charms of Individual life.
This is but ono of the modes in which Mr..
Cranch seeks expression for the higher thoughts
Al tho Exhibition OF the Art Union, pictures from
his hand may be seen, in kindred spirit. He
has not SO long been familiar with the palette
IS with the pen, but his pictures premise future
excellence, and very attractive, now, from the
various sympathy with nature and freedom of
feeling which they show. They are in harmony
with this beautiful description of the Artist:
He b.eathed The ayr Of realms enchanted,
He ba,hed III seas Of dreamy light
And seeds within his soul were planted
That bore Us flowers for use TOO bright,
Unless !, were TO stay some ndriDg spirit, fight
With us he lived common life,
And wore a plain, familiar name,
And meskiy dared the vulgar strife
Thu, 10 iafsiior spirits Came
Yet bore puise within the world could never tame
And skies more soft than Itay's
Their wealth oflight around him spread,
And tones were his-and only his
So sweetly floating DER his head fed.
None knew al W hat rich feast the favored guest was
They could not guess or reason Why
He chose the ways of poverty;
They read no wisdom in his eye
Bat scorncd the holy my stery TO see.
That brooded DER his thoughts and gave him power
But all unveiled the world of Sense
An inner meaning had for him,
And Beauty loved 10 innocence,
No, sought in passion or in whim,
Within soul SO pure could ne'sr grow dull and dim.
And in this vision did he toit
And in this beauty lived and died,
And think not that ne left his soil
BY no rich tilsge sanc,ifed; [prde.
Ia olden times he might have been his country IS
And yet may be, though he hath gone
For spirits OF so fine mould
Lose no, ;he glory they have won,
Their memory turns not pale and cold;
While Love lives on the lovely never can grow old.
The following is graceful in the simple grace
Of not too much
She has brought me fowers TO deck my room,
Ofswoetest scent and brlllioncy;
She knew not that she was the while
The fairest flower of all to me.
Since her soft eyes have looked on them,
What tenderer beauties in them dwell,
Since her fair hands have placed them there,
Oh, hew much sweeter do they smell
Beside my ink-stand and my books
They bloom in perfume and in light;
voice amid my ionosomenoss-
shining star amid my night.
The storm beats down upon the roof
But in this room glide summer hours,
Since ehe, the faIest flower of all,
Has garlanded my heart with flowers.
The Aurora Boreals' and The Blind Seer
arc poems Of true dignity. The followisg hasthc
same tone, with still moro sweetness:
THE OCEAN.