New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1869-09-24

that and he weaving lambs
Lambs for the slaughter you may be, ere long,
you VIII Craze together. III the W ofId 80 .,s
Has scandalized you, though the charge DC raise
Yous damage no less There's but one thing
Which you must shun, and thai is i'll report"
This formal heartless strain is in strong contrast
to the arrogant audacous frankness of Prince Max,
speaking to his father, the old Elector
." / talk my best do not pick my phrase
To suit the hearing OF wcll-mannered vice.
II all things vile were called by their right Names
We'd have less preaching. It's the gloss OF SIN
In which men see their faces and look pleased;
Remove the Yamsh, and the rough, coarse gram
Would draw scant praises"
In the solilOquy of the EecOr after his interview
with Sophia. we find the hard old stock from which
the two Princes drew their characters:
as death
VIII sentimental loves, and hates, and woes,
FoSall their softness, are the toughest stun
That Ger worked IN. am plagued with hearts,
With other peoples driyellng, senseless hearts;
Hearts are my devils II take step,
an sure to stumble one OF them.
Ny heart your heart Why, Ills the FOOLS excuse
For all his folly, and the hypoerltes
Grand plea foI all his selfsbness. The eye
Drops tears upon it, but it will not feel
Experience warns it, but it will not. hear
Truth shines upon it, but 1t will not see
Sense gives it daintes, but IL viii not TASTE
Aud SO, poor head, thou art but deputy
To a dumb maniac, and thy policy
Hangs the changes of the wandering moon"
These passages are a fair specimen of Mr.. Boxers
terse and vigorous style. His K0ngsmark" has
evidently been constructed with great care: it is
signs everywhere til the material had been slowly
assimilated by the authors MD and reproduced in
fashion not hastily chosen. With less of rraSs!0n
than Mr. Boxers former dramatic poems, it has more
Of quiet strength.
The Legend Of the Hounds" is a story full of
grim and even painful interest. The subject is as
GOOD IS Bi.-ers Wild Huutsman." The Squire,
who owned Cocbrook Furnace, IN Cornwall, and
drew good store of wealth from the smelling OF his
iron ores, possessed celebrated pack OF hounds,
forty in number, the leader of which, white bitch
named Flora had saved him from freezing to death
in "a snowstOrm. On a certain day, when he wished
TO display to some guests from the city the qualities
of his boosted pack the hounds probably drugged
by an enemy of the Squire. completely failed both
in scent and speed. Neither voice nor whip availed
to arouse them, and the Squire, in his fury rode to
the furnace and ordered his brutalized wOrkmen to
east the pack into the molten metal He was obeyed:
one by one the animals were flung into the flames,
until only the leader remained:
Towards her approached the lOathiul gang;
But Flora barred her ivory fang
That brisiied on her SAID Bewarep
Is cr0achIng low, her dangerous eye
Fixed on the ruflans drawing Nigh
She fairly awed Them TIL they stood
Quaihng before her lion mood.
You shrinking towards? foamed the Squire,
Now with redoubled rage ahre,
.ls'tf your pretty SKINS you fear
AT once the look Of wrath was gone;
A trusting, tender, loving dawn
Rose ! her eyes; her talking tail
QaTered with Joy; a low, soft wall
Broke from her, as the iron hand
Swung her: and stridng toward the ledge
With his pleased burden, the edge
OF awful deatli-Oh foul dSgrace!-
She turned and licked his purple face
Sheer out he flung her. As she fell,
Up from that FACILITATING he'll
Game three shrill cries, and then a roll
shranE from the pit and CHASTITY white,
A. the Winter night,
The squire rceled backward. Long he gazed
Was it famcyl hyog heard;
Answer! What was IL l-ihat last word
Which Flora flung me Answer came,
A. though one mouth pronounced the name,
And sIIoie tile asker a rod
The word she sand was" God God, God ,"
ment, of course there is upon the Squire and
the beginning of his retribution scarcely less aw
full than his sin:
Who served his suen beck and call -
That ever. he took his seat.
IL seemed a. though his shrinking feet
Were pushed apart by something seen
In walking; for his hanging hand
Were land against IT,
At last in the madness Of drink, he sees tho pack
issuing flaming from the jaws of Colebrook Furnace
and is hunted to death. Since the q" Ivory Carver
Mr.. Boxer has written nothing so picturesque and
wierdly imaginative as the Legend of the Hounds
Inc Countess Laura is IN a higher and gTayer
strain and are not sure that it is not the best
thing III the volume 1t is story of love stronger
than death aud purer than passion told III blank
verse so sweet and meOdiOus that it has all the
effect of rhyme. "Ad Crticum" is a good answer TO
those paragraphists. English as well as American.
who insist upon our authors combining themselves
strictly to native themes; yet, being answer it is
necessarily an oyer-statement. The truth lies be-
tween the two We have seen an English critic con-
demning an American poet for singing of clover"
instead OF "praire-gass" as if the former were an
exclusively English plant but on the other hand.
we cannot quite agree with Mr. Boxer when he asks
what beauty there is in the glaring smutty forgeD
seeing that he, himself had just before made use of
an iren furnace, with such good results Again.
when he asserts that the human heart belongs TO all
times and places, we might point to the manifold
aspects OF life at home-the influences specialIv
American. which both restrict and develop sent;
ment and intellect, and passonas presenting rich
hed for the poet and dramatist. We understand
MI Boxer, however, as protesting against the dicta
torial manner in which certain modern critics at
tempt to limit and crcumscribe the activity of the
authors psap whom they look down--s class of in.