The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1870-02-16
tent % rest. .sntisnsd uith tho lnnrels that he

the Sun and West of the Moon" "The Story
of Accontius and Cydippo, "rhe Man Who
Never Laughed Again, The Story Of
Rhodope," and "The Lovers of Gudrun."
The first, third, and fifth are classic, and the
others, with the exception of 'The Man Who
Never Laughed Again, which is an oriental
story, are Morse. The Greek subjects have a
simplicity and directness that are much in
the Greek manner, while those OF Northern
origin are more or less discursive, in the true
Gothic style. 1t would be impossible within
the limits of q newspaper review to give a
description of these stories, even if it were
desirable, and it is sufficient for us to COM
mend them to our readers, with the assurance
that we have been delighted in their
perusal. The last and longest story in
the series, 1.-The Lovers Of Gudrun" is an
Icelandic legend and is noble poem nobly
told. 1t is stronger, more vigorous, and dis
tinguished by higher poetic qualities than
anything that MIR. Morris hasyet written. We
have no hesitation in praising it as one of the
very finest English poems that have been
given to the world during the present gene
ration, and il would of itself be sufficient to
place Mr.. Morris in the front rank of living
poets. The scenery costumes, and charac-
ters of this story are set before the reader
with remarkable vividness, and even the ap-
parent aimlessness-if we may so term 1t-of
portions of the narrative is perfectly in keep
| ing, and seems to give a verislmlhtude TO
this perfect picture of Icelandic life and
society at the time of the introduction OF
Christianity The three principal personages
os1v;1 tch,
to be possessed of a genius that II not dra-
matte nearly approaches to that quahty
The conclusion is a fine example OF tragic
writing that approaches the intensity OF the
| drama, but that never forgets the style OF the
| story-teler. We cannot refrain from quoting
the following magnificent passage where the
| tender-hearted lover of Gudrun mourns over
the body of his prouder rival who has
fallen by his hand, although we know that
| very much of its force will be lost by being
transferred from its proper place in the mar
| rative:-
Fair is the night and fair the day,
Now April is forgot of May,
Now into June May falls away;
Fair day, fair night, o give me back,
The tide that ali fair things did lack
Except my love, except my sweet!
Though thou art sweet thou has no mind
Her hair about my sweet to wind;
o fowery sward, though thou art bright,
] praise thee not for thy delight,
Thou hast not kissed her silver feet.
| Thou know'st her not o rustling tree,
| What dost thou then to shadow me,
| Whose shade her breast did never see }!
| o flowers, in vain we bow adown!
Ye have not felt her odorous gown
| Brush past your heads my lips to met.
| Flow on, great river-thou mayst deem
That tar away, a summer stream,
| Thou sawest her limbs amidst the CLEAN,
| And kissed her foot, and kissed her knee,
Yet get thee swift unto the sea!
With naught of true thou wilt me greet.
And thou that men call by my name,
helpless one hast thou no shame
| That thou must even look the same,
AS while agone, as while agone,
When thou and she were left alone,
And hands, and lips and tears did meet.
Grow weak and pine, lie down to die,
| body in thy misery,
Because short time and sweet goes by;
foolish heart, how weak thou art!
Break, break, because tho1 needs must part
From thine own love, from thine own sweet
Remarkable as is the merit of "The Lovers
of Gudrun, it is doubtful whether it will gain
from the majority of readers the same amount
of unqualified admiration as the exquisite
dream-like tale of ''The Land East of the Sun
and West of the Moon," which shows Mr..
Morris at his best in the capacity of legen-
dairy poet and story-teller. We refrain from
making any quotations from this, although
much tempted by numerous passages of great
beauty, for it is simply impossible to give
any adequate idea of the style of Mr.. Morris
in this manner, and we will be doing our
readers better service by simply inviting
them to read and enjoy for themselves. The
following song, however, from ''The Story of
Accontius and Cydippe, is complete in itself,
and we therefore give it as a specimen of the
lyric quality of the poet:-
Men say that those who went the corpse to
bring
To Bathstead thence, found Bodli muttering
Over the white face turned up to the sky,
Nor did he heed them as they drew anigh,
Therefore they stood by him, and heard him say:
"Perchance it is that thou art far away
From us already; caring not at all
For what in after days to us may fall
| piteous, piteous yet perchance it is
That thou, though entering on thy life Of bliss,
The need of thy great heart yet art anear,
And somewhat of my feeble voice can hear
Then scarce for pardon will pray thee, friend,
Since thus our love is brought unto no end,
But rather now, indeed, begins anew;
Yet since long time past naught good or true
My lips might utter, let me speak to thee,
II so 1t really is that thou art free
Az peace and happy past the golden gate;
THAT time is dead for thee, and thor mayst wait
thousand years for her and deem it naught.
y dead friend, in my heart there springs a
thought
That, since with thy last breath thou spalst her
name
And Aince thou knowest now how longing came