Weekly national intelligencer. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1841-1869, 1853-07-02

thing moro than that abe thoughts OF others have sug
gested tie germ Of conceptions These are in truth
mos plagiarisms than chemical compound, the re-
suit of mysterious aintes is identical with the elements
which enter ntoit There is all the difference between
suggestion and plagiarism that there is between ekg
blood from blood and receiving into the veins by
fusion In Shakespeare and Scott both how much
and how little great genius derives from without
himself
But we have already kept readers long from the
few excerpts with which close Our Judgment is that
Mr. Smith will make poet if he lives long enough, and
can be kept Dr. Johnson said, from writing himself
down or as another has expressed thought before
us may turn out after ALL that there is in him the
kernel of true poet"
We quote an extract from the principal poem in
this volume The Life Drama = and we promise that
our samples shall be of the best quality the book affords
speaking after the manner of the Leader:
Poesy Poesy I'd give 10 thee,
As passionately my rich laden years.
My bubble pleasures, and my awful joys,
AS HERO gave her trembling signs to find
Delicious death on wet LEANDERs lip
Bare, bald, and tawdry, fingered moth,
Is my poor life, but with smile thou canst
Clothe me with kingdoms. Wilt thou smile on me-
Wilt bid me die for thee O, fair and cold
As well may some wild maiden waste her love
Upon the calm front of q marble Jove.
cannot draw regard of thy great eyes.
love thee, Poesy Thou art rock
/, a weak wave, would break on thee and de-
There is deadlier pang than that which beads
With chilly death drops the o'ertortured brow,
When one has big heart and feeble hands
A heart to hew his name out upon time
AS on a rock, then in immortalness
| To stand time a pedestal
When hearts beat to this tune and hands are weak,
We find our aspirations auenched in tears,
The tears of impotence and sefcontempt-
! i am SO cursed, and within my soul
pang as fierce as DIVES, drowsed with wine,
Tipping his eman in luxurious dreams,
Walked by fend in hell !"
Keats we are sure would have clapped his hands over
the following passage:
-s Some books are drench'd sands,
On which great souls wealth lies all in heaps
Like wrecked argosy. What power in books!
They minge gloom and splendor, as I've oft,
In thund'rous sunsets seen the thunder piles
Scanned with dull fire and fercest glory rents
They me to my knees, as if stood
la presence of king. They give me tears,
Such glorious tears Ewes fair daughters shed
When first they clasped son of God, all bright
With burning plumes and splendors of the sky,
In coming heaven of their milky arms"
We suspect there is Shakspearian felicity in the
following lines
--" Thou mock st at much
And he who sneers at any living hope,
Or aspiration of human heart
Is just so many stages less than God
That universal and a.l-sded Love-
I'm wretched, Edward, to the very heart;
see unreached heaven of young desire
Shine through my hopeless tears. My dropping sails
Flap idly 'gainst the mast of my intent.
rot upon the waters when my prov
Should CRATE the golden isles"
OF the sonnets in this collection Of Mr. Smiths poems
the to our liking is this
Beauty still walkeh on the earth and air;
Our present sunsets rich in gold
As the Iliad's music out-rolled
The of the Spring ever fair,
Mong branches green still ring doves and pair,
And the deep still foams its Apsic old
So, if we at all divnely souNs
This beauty will unloose our bonds of care.
IT'S pleasant when blue skies are o er bending
Within old starry gated Poesy,
To meet soul set to worldly tune,
Like thine sweet Friend oh, dearer this to me
Than the dewy trees, the sum- the moon,
Or noble music with golden ending"