The mountain sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1844-1853, 1853-06-16
THE new POET.

IN q level with the highest. Poems by Alex
ander Smith" was the inviting title of his vol
Qrae But il has been greeted with praise al
most unqualified. from one end of the kingdom
90 the other We have not yet seen the hook
out from the numberless extraets IN the Euro
peaa periodicals. we conclude that no modern
poet, in his frat volume, ever gave such unmis-
takeable evidences of poetic power. He is pro
digal OF his wealth His verses TEEN with ideas
cud fancies expressed with such force and fell
city, that the reader pauses, every few lines, in
that silent ecstasy which the lovers Of poetry
experience IN reading masterpieces.for the first
time. Here nre few lines for poets only =
Poesy! Poesy! I'd give to thee,
As passionately, my rich laden years,
My hubie pleasures, and my awful joys,
As Hero gave her trembling sighs to find
Delicious death on wet Leander's lip.
Bare, bald, and talsdry, fingered moth,
Is nv poor life but with one smile thou can st
Clothe me with kingdoms.
Nothing could be finer than the expression
.'tget Leander" 1t hints the whole story OF
Leander and Hero. and WHITES the picture stri-
kngIy. Sill apost-oph:zing poetry, he asks -
Wilt BID me die for thee? o fair and cold!
As well may some wild maiden waste her love
Upon the calm front Of marble Jove.
! cannot draw regard of thy great eyes.
I love thee. Poesyl Thou art n rock,
1, Teak wave, would break on thee and die
Here is another passage, which every young
poet will feel the full meaning Of
There Is deadiier psng thaa that which heads
With chilly death-drops the DER tortured brow,
When one has hig heart and feeble hands
4 heart to hew his name out upon time
As on a rock. then il iEnmortalness
To stand On time as on pedestal weak,
When hearts beat TO this tuna, and hands are
We fnd cur aspirations quenched in tears,
The tsars Of impotence and self contempt.
That loathsome weed, up-springng in the heart
Like nightshads 'mong the ruins of a shrine.
IL the same strain, n few lines further on, he
cdds:-
'Tts not for ne, We heavens? . tis not for me
To aing poem like comet out.
Far-spleudouring the sleepy realms of night.
/ cannot give men glmpses go divine,
AS when, upon rackinE night, the wine
Draws the pale curtains of the vaporv clouds,
And shows those wonderful mysterious voids,
Throbbing with stara like pulses.
Therei is q fne thought il the following
Alone he dwelt. solitary as star
Unsphered and exiled, yet he knew no scorn.
Once did he say, ''For me- I'd rather live
With this weak human heart and yearning
blood.
Lonely as God, than mate with barren souls:
More brave more beautiful than myself must
The man whom, truly can call my Friend;
He must be an Inspirer, who can draw
To higher heights Of Being, and ever stand
Ger ne in uureached beauty, like the moon
What lnes, too, are these, which conclude the
Poets address to Nature -
Yon quarry shattered by the bursting fire,
And disembowelled by the biting pick,
Kind Nature thou hast taken to thyself
Thy weeping Apriis and soft blowing Mays.
Thy blossom buried Junes, have smoothed its
scars,
And hid it's wounds and trenches deep in flowers
so take my worn and passion-wnsted heart,
Maternal Nature Take il to thyself,
EtaCe the scars of scorn, the rents of hate,
The wounds of alien eyes, visit my brain
With thy deep peace, fill with thy calm my
heart,
And the quick courses of my human blood.
And these, which mark the moment, so to
speak, Of the Poets regeneration
Ny life was a long dream when I awoke,
Duty stood like an angel in my path,
And seemed so terrible, | could have turned
Into my yesterdays. and wandered hack
To distant childhood, and gone out to God
BY the gate of birth, not death.
Again IN the same grand, inspiring passage,
the emancipated Poet speaks thus =
Great duties are before me and greatsonrs,
And whether crowned or crownless when fall
II matters not. so as Gods work is done.
I've learned to prize the quite lightened-deed
Not the appiauding thunder at its heels,
Which men call fame
Our scissors yearn to clip other passages which
lie lnyldngly before us: but in n few days the
volume will be republished here. and accessible
to all our readers. If Alexan Ter Smith were to
die this hour he would live in the hearts of men
for manya year. Our only fear for him is. that
the ''applauding thunder" with which his APP
pearance has been hailed. NAV alarm his muse.
But we hope better things. There seems to be
spirit in his writings. far above that lust of
glory which has weakened and embittered so
many of our modern poets. From certain pas
sages we infer that the new poet is poor man.
II this be so--we should like to ask the Earl of
Aberdeen-which wisest which were best
for literature, that Mr. Smith shoud be pension
ed noU when a pension would give him that in
gift of leisure which only the high and
great are fit TO be entrusted with, and which
thev can so nobly use, twenty years hence |
when his mind has been worn with the struggle
for existence and when his muse had already
achieved her highest ii ght Home Journal.
A BLACKSMITH was lately summoned to a
country count as a witness in dispute between
two of his workmen. The judge after hearing
the testimony, asked him why he did not advise
them to settle, as the costs had already
amounted TO three times the disputed sum. He
replied: 81 told the fools to settle: for said
~ =