New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1872-03-05

-. o,;oa, signidcance beneath the verbai
- urv NJ his descriptions are happy aiiu liz
- .bo,,ob the movement is too stateS i'i ''
-, ,ao.irc natural grace. The sonnet ID law
go Lind with the author, and IN that ulinoui,
~ roetic composition, he has attained conSiu'
less Tho specimens in this volume lndifa'e
a.ofI study of the art of vcrsfcation, and tbouRn
not free from ingenious cOnceits, often give 'u'iu
EXPRESSION to a suggestive fancy. Mr.. hayhe ID
native Of the South, andNnuch of his poetry Ii a'u
rally devoted to the commemoration OF scenes III
the recent unhappy conflict Several pieces Vi 'ii'
class possess touching interest as psalms OF osaP
pointed hope. The following is an example "lhch
the writer afiirms is not an exaggeration but the
sober and melancholy truth"
That fair young land which gave me blrth il uC"u'
Lost as a fallen star that quiyerng dies
Down the pale pathway OF Autumnal Skies,
A vague faint radiance lickering where 1t lcd; =,
All She hath wrought, all she hath planned or said,
Wrecked on the langild shore OF Lethe lies,
While cold Oblivion walls her pteous head:
o mother loved and lOveliest! dehonalr
As some brave Queen of antique chivalres,-
Thy bcauty's blasted like thy desolate coasts;
Where now thy lustrOus fOrm thy shining mar
Where thy bright presence thine imperial eyesf
Lost in dim shadows OF the realm OF GHOSTS!
The lode, in honor of the bravery and sacrifices
of the soldiers of the South, is inspired by an enthu
siastc sense Of the justice Of the lost cause ana
can call forth no sympathy from those who look
only ON the other side of the picture but the echo OF
its sad funeral strains has pathetic ring ike the
notes of the bugle which sound retreat The
poem closes with the following tender lament.
Enough tits over! the last CLEAN of hope
Hath melted from Our mourIfm horoscope
OF all, OF all bercft,
Only TO are left
Our buried heroes and their matchless deeds;
These cannot pass; they hold the vital seeds
Which IN some far, untracked, unvlsloneu ho'u
May burst TO vivid bud ana glorious hover.
Meanwhile, upon the nations broken heart
Her martyrs sleep. o! dearer idr 70 her'
Than II each son, a, wreathed conqueror'
Rode in triumphant state
The loftiest crest Of fate;
o! dearer far, because OutcRst and low,
she ycarns above them in her awful woe
One sprng It's tender blooms
| Hath iavished richly by those hallowed tombsi
One Summer ITS imperial largess spread
| Along our heroes bed;
one AUTUMN waihng with funcrcal blast
The withcred leaves and palld dust anaSsea
nangs boar frost on the grasses, and the bough
In dreary woodlands , seems 70 t Ir r. ana start
| Across those lonely, desolated graves!
| Mr. Abbeys Ballads of Good Deeds" breathe
spirit of loving devotion to the poetic art, and
| cordial study of its noble productions. he writes
| from sympathy, however rather than from creative
urgings and of course, brings down no new fruits
| from the higher regions to which he directs his
flight. His book has been prepared with set pur-
| pose and hence exhibits a degree of system and
formaity that cannot be deemed favorable to poetic
effect He celebrates certain historical or legendary
incidents with a view TO their ethical suggestions
using them as illustrations Of different moral virtues
and summing up the lesson at the close Of the poem
Mr. Abbey has an excellent command of poetical
language and imagery and many of his stanzas are
| sweet and musical.
The title Of Mr.. Lclands volume is misleading,
with its promise of music from the FlOwery Land"
and with hint of the bewildering riches of sent-
ment and song which it pours forth from its album
dant cornucopia. The authors genius is so singu-
larly versatile in its type that it requires nmble
step to keep pace with its sudden turns. "The
Music-Lesso of Confucius" is merely the starting
| point for an endless ramble through verdurOus
| woods, sunny gladcs, grassy meadows, golden or
chards winding up in mystic labyrinth OF fragrant
| odors, sweet sounds and luscious fruits. We could
easier track the course of the bee than follow the
poet in his wide excursions in quest of honey Now
we are on the nights of Olympus with the Grecian
| gods now on Mount Mem with Demiurgs and
Demons or listening to the story of SpirdOn, the
bishop of Cyprus by the grace of God now lost in
legend of the beautiful queen of Hungary. soar
ing into infinite space in pursuit of the Many in
One" with Bel Er Oph Adon," the first of enchant-
ers in the old moon time" with terrible beauty,
loneliness fearful, spendOr Of ages" and now
punging into the profundites of arid distractions
with Hegel and Comte. After this goblin round. we
glad to light such pleasant fancy as we find
by accident Ill the quaint rhymes descriptive of the
spiritual metcmpsychoss not always noticed in
books on the natural history of man.
| THOUSAND YEARS AGO.
| Thou and in spirit-land,
| A thousand ago,
| Watched the waves beat on the stran'
| Ceaseless ebb and flow;
Vowed 10 love and love
| thousand years ago.
! Thou and in greenwood shade,
| Nine hundred ago,
| Heard the wild dove in the gade
| Murmurng soft and low;
| Vowed to love for eyemOre,
| Nine hundred years ago
Thou and in yOndeT star.
| Eight hundred years ago,
| Saw strange forms OF light aias
| In wild beauty glow;
| All things change, but love enduAs
| Now as long agOl