The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1879-01-25
Yorick's Drawer

--''Alas, poor Yorick p'palls just bit after
the thousandth repetition, especially when
one isn't that kind of fellow; but when
served up with new sauce by the Biddeford
Miniature after the following recipe of its
own, the phrase has all the charm of novelty:
''Yorick OF the Portland Daily Press in max
ing comparison, says, 'as bright as that
brightest and best of things, bright GIRL
Yes, lass, poor Yorick-you are correct"
There are many famous anecdotes Of the
anachranisms perpetrated by the medieval
painters-how they introduced the furni-
ture and costumes of their time into classic
and scriptural representations. Has Will
liam Morris in his attempt to reproduce
the medieval spirit purposely followed this
fault by way of giving "local color" The
query is suggested by these lines from The
Tomb of Arthur,
.on the bearers arm, SO be he thinks it straight,
Twisted Malay's crease beautiful blue-grey."
Guinevere is the speaker. What could
Guinevere know Of the Malay and his knife,
and the death race he ran? Is Mr.. Morris
in his close adhere nee to his models, like the
Chinese tailor in the story who faithfully re-
patch that dsfgured the old pair sent to him
as a pattern? Is this Pre-Raphael tism?
Then, o John Chinaman, are you the oracle
OF the age. There does not seem, by the
way, nice propriety in calling the renascence
in poetry to which we are indebted to Nor
ris, Rossetti and theil followers, Pre-Raph.
aelitism. The Pre-Raphaelites are strong
in form, but disdainful of color; whereas
these poets are sumptuous in color, but seem
wavering in form almost TO formlessness.
Our Lady of Good Help sends this:
''The song of the Brier-wood Pipe, which
Iser quotes for the pleasure of Yorick and
his friends, is charming in style and fancy !;
but the "spirits that call it Sweet-Brer''
clearly never assisted at the manufacture of a
brier-wood pipe. 1t traces its name, not to
the root of the pink petaled eglantine, but to
a species of heath, from whose French name,
bruyere it takes its brevet title of brier"
Now shall Yorick's new brer-wood be named
La Bruyere, in audacious hope that the spir-
it of the French wit thus honored may come
down and inspire conceit as bright as this
following one which Notre Dune de Bon
Secours breaths into the Drawer:
Does any reader of the PRESS recall the
name of the original hero OF Mother Goose's
rhyme, Little Tom with jerkln blue, that
Stole his fathers equity shoe? Somewhere,
there is to be found an account OF Greek Of
classic times OF whom precisely the same sto-
ry is told, even to the poetical justice of the
expressed wish, That the gouty shoe may fit
him. But the authority is not at hand to
give the name of the Greek, light-fDgered,
upon the lightness OF whose feet the letters
of gout were invoked. Neither is it that the
origin of the story is yet reached. Fable is
the Nile of literature-sometimes ii runs dry,
as Esop; and again mandates the surround
ing scenery with beneficial overflow, like the
New York World; but its hidden source is
always to be found in the fountain head of
the great watery waste of wordS-the myth
of the Sun and Dawn. Go to, thou olden
Greekish man, and make an end of foolish
ness, blue-coated Thomas-for thou art the
earth and the blue sky is the garment of
thee; and thou stealest the golden light
wherewith the feet of the sun are shod. But
here comes he, hot-foot, in honest wrath |;
and when the days of the summer solstice
are upon the world, PROBABILITIES shall de-
clare of thee that the gouty shoe fits thee
and thon shalt learn to thy grief that over
much OF a good thing is unblest.
-'Anserinus," who is surely none other
than "Argosy," and who should be called
"Cygneus'' for the grace of his movement
through measured verse or uneven prose,
sends these lines on Camoens with an accom-
panying note:
CAMOENs:
1517-1599.
Laureate Of the dark-hair Portuguese
The muse, unrivaed of thy sunny land,
give legemans homage with my hand
To thee, great poet, deft in many keys;
Thee, artist-marshal of pure melodies
That move majestic in procession grand,
Or glide on graceful feet at thy command.
mark thee begging in the marts and quays
Who once in royal halls brought tc thy feet
The adulations OF their heartless king.
hear thee sing to Catarna's eyes
In Atayadan groves with sonnets sweet
see the crown that Fame and Fortune bring,
But DEATH the jeeIing victor, steals the prze.
We accord high place to Keats, Words
worth, Shelley; We mouth, as it were sweet
mOrsel, the utterances of Byron, Moore,
Goldsmith; we speak in reverent accent OF
The names of Vlllou, Tasso, Dante. Why
| not thus Camoens? Perhaps We cannot pro-
nounce his name correctly. That is easily
| overcome-Ka-mongs, with the accent on the
| ultimate. Is not our silence due to our ig
norance OF this unfortunate sweet singing
| poet of the little kingdom Of Portugal? We
fancy so. How many know of. his romantic
| life--of his ambitious love for a lady of rank,
| his temporary success, his banishmeLt, his
heroic military exploits, his return from exile
pauper IN the regal city where once he
dwelt in affiuence, his beggarly end, and a
| pension for life, sent by the perfdious Sover-
| eign, when the chamber OF death held the
| sacred dust of Portugafs only laureate. More
than all this, who has enjoyed perusal OF
| his poetry? One cannot rise from a reading
| of his lesser works without feeling that fine
| poet has been s'passed on the other side" by
the modern Levites, Camoens was a master
of the sonnet and all his pieces in that form
are elegant in diction, conception and execu-
! ton.