New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1847-04-10
Foreign Correspondence of The Tribune.
Pen QUO 1nk 1)ortraiis No. III.
FRANCE....M. DE LAMARTINE.


PARIS February ], l647
There is Poetry that belongs to the wars OF
Liberty-that sounds its call to arms in the ears
Of waking millions-that swells above the roar OF
battle, cheering to the charge-and peals its an
them tones Of greeting to the flag that droops
the held whore Freedom has been won but Pc.
ety belongs neither to the wars of tyranny nor TO
the horrid reves Of the demons of anarchy and
civil broil
No period was ever more fruitful in poetic mate
nal them that of the French Revolution and its
following events. Great elements OF thought were
thrown confusedly together, and a skillful hand
might have gathered from among the cypress and
the nieatfhade wreath Of flowers which would
|. have breathed the very perfume Of immortality :
but the epoch of poetic events is never the epoch
Of poets--there was one to gather these flowers
& they doomed. Amid the fire and smoke the
roar and confusion there was indeed one Poet who
1T up his voice-Andre Chenier sang Of the Past
bat his song was soon sienced by the dripping ak,
and the beautiful visions OF the poet were forgotten
In the terrible realities of the passing moment.
Look st the period to which l refer. Reflect
upon its grandeur for a moment. Compare it with
the themes of Homer, of Milton and Of Dante, and
how the Real lifts itself up above the Imaginary
Behold an inundation of blood pouring over the
throne of Charlemagne, Of Philippe Auguste, of
Henri ~, and Of Louis NV. See the venerable
Institutions Of thousand years disappearing be-
meath the roaring and terrible food, and the world
itself-the social world of past ages-tottering
upon its foundations the horrible torrent that
rolls sddying beneath. See new thoughts new
modes of life, springing up everywhere, Low.
born peasants are mounting from the necks OF no
bic revolutionary victims to the Marshals saddle
the Tuilleries are thronged with Counts Dukes
and Princes who well remember barefoot boy
hood-s Corscsn student revives the ideas of Char
lsmsgne and the imperial purple flows from the
shoulders Of the Lieutenant Of Toulon
But all this was of the Present, and the dreams
Of Possy are not OF the Present The birds never
sing to the moaning of the midnight wind and sci
dom to the sun of noonday-but when the morning
10 gay, they sing for the night that is past and
their mournful tones are poured through the even
ing twilight in sad prophecy Of the gloom which
begins to darken around them go Poetry has its
song for that which has lost its grosser features in
TIE mis,s Of the Past and its tones prophetic peal
like vespsr.bell through the twilight of that Flu.
ture which is ever night TO US. At the time speak
Of France had no Past-no Future there was
nothing but fearful, bloody Present. How could
france have poets
Among the nations without the voice OF song
was not silenced There were poets there-some
whose song was dying away in the feebleness Of
years-some whose voices Of melody were just
beginning to touch the hearts Of men Alfieri sang
IN Italy-Scott was beginning TO make the Z" land
Of the mountain and the flood vocal with the
Lay Of the Last Minstrel -Childe Harold sang
good night to his native shore and went forth to bis
wanderinss DER land and ses-and Goethe, Schiller
Wieland and Herder filed the oak groves ofSaxe-
Weim0 with the spirits and the memories of Par
nassus-and, later STILL Chateaubriand, an exile
from the land of his brth--the first-born Poet Of
The living age-the link between the Past and
Present-liited up his voice of heavenly tone.
But for a long time the Of battle and the con-
fasion of nations drowned the sweet soft voice of
Bong. Now the bones are bleeched upon the field
d striie--the purposes and the tate of struggling
sseions are forgotten, and where in the shade Of
" spreading oak the grass grows greener on the
fsttened soil the dreamy student throws himself at
nsVn 70 ieaet hls sOGi upon the S'oht lnOugnts OF
hose who in the crash OF nations were regarded as
ne least important of men. The victory OF the
Warrior passes away-the victory OF the Poet
Snains. His work is Immortal like the Eternal
sP'rt Of thought from whom it proceeds.
Chenier closed the race of French Poets who
Med before the Revolution, and when he teii-as
bis soul Of poesy had passed to an infant form
mere sprsng up, where the turbd Saone sves the
was Of Macon. child tair-haired and gentle, but
"Ha heart Of FIRE and words whose melodious
masnce wrapped the world in blissful wonder
&c was Chenier turned Christian.
Ai'HoSsE DE LANARrrSE was born October 81.
NSo. ! hope it will not be regarded as too IN
r'sueai to say that his family name was nothing !
1--WE nor less than plain De Prat. He is certain
'"ever, to be commended for assuming, instead |
'"e name Of his maternal unce--whether it was on
'eo'nat Of its more poetic character or for the |
ss.'er fortune it brought him.
ihe isther Of De Lamartine was Major Of Cav |
~ unoer Louis XVI. His ctber was the grand |