The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1881-12-30
THE PRESS.
Recent Publications.

Boston: A. Williams & Co. This little book
came into our hands day or two ago, and has
interested us SO much that we wish to say
few words in its commentator. 1t IS lovely
volume of lovely verses on the loyeliest OF
themes. Those deep and fine souls whose SEN
sitive sincerity causes them to shrink from
coarse effects and aJhor false claims will find
in these pages much which they must warmly
admire. They will find an intensity Of expo
rience and aspiration, a truth and height OF
sentiment, breathing vitality and melody
Of Repression, and a chaste and fin
ished simplicity of style, which they will enjoy
as well as approve. The writer gives abun-
dant evidence on every page of being one who
is acquainted, at first hand, with the most sa-
cred mysteries of the affections; and is gifted
to reveal in calm and glowing words, like fire.
opals, the secrets that originally came in quie-
tude and in transport.
Many persons seem to fancy that they are
strong and high and enviable in the degree of
their isolation, indifference and self-suficency.
But really we are rich and admirable in pro
portion to the amount and rank of what we
believe and love and expect. 1t is the mission
of the poet to illustrate this In these head
long days of distraction and externality it is
his choice Office to set an example of devotion
to the interests of the interior life, and show
how far superior to all other claims are the
claims of personal emotion and thought. No
one can be qualified for this who is not born
with an unwonted fund of craving and tena-
cious sensibility, full of the faiths and desires
fed by an exalted and empassoned ideality.
A profound and faithful sympathy is the very
core of genius.
There are in our time SO many men as dry
and stiff as if manufactured of leather, SO
many women as shallow and vapid as if con-
structed of millinery, that it is a godsend when
one appears endowed with that transcendent
force and keenness of passion which must
pierce through all conventional shows to the
inmost tragedy and glory of being. And when
such an one sings the secrets brought by the
Joys and sorrows of our lot even ordinary ma
lures. touched by the contagious insight, be-
hold the routine of commonplace affairs trans
figured with a strange light, and meanings
brought to view of which they had never
dreamed.
Owen Innsly-whoeyer that may be, wheth-
er man or woman-is clearly poet of this Or
der We discern in the poems presented I'M
der that name the unmistakable signals OF
temperament of fathomless ardor, but grdled
with intellect and will which allow no wild
extravaganza; an organization vascular with
soul; soul floating on electric arteries through
whose currents the dateless traditions of love
speed and beat in divine fire; brain tingling
with mystic response to appealing personalities;
breast that moves to the rhythm of beauty,
but is so penetrated with the prophetic signif-
canoe of all beauty as to resent every grossness
and repel the least impurity, even Of magma
ton. These are qualities that accredit poet,
and make his work valuable as they make it
inspiring. For the embodied experience of
such writer enriches the reader with no.
bier apprehension of the worth and charm of
the prizes still concealed in human life, prizes
which those persons whose eyes are couched
and whose souls are open are still every day Of
fering to each other.
The book begins with dedicatory poem to
the departed mother of the author, which has
achastened fullness of medtative emotion, a
graceful and gracious solemnity of movement,
most impressive because most sincere and fit:
"Afov'st thou, perchance, in strange and starry
Affair, beyond the impenetrable night
That shrouds the tomb, smiling at the old fears
Ofdeath encirclsd by all-conquering light?
Or dost thou sleep where thy last bed was made,
Beneath the violets and the secuted grass,
Careless alike of sunshine and of shade
Ofmo:ns that linger and of ewes that pass?
Ali who shall say? No eye can pierce the dark
No strained ear tidings catch of veal or woe
Out of the silence; and no single spark
Illumes that portal through which all must go.
Yet this we know: Death is kind of BIRTH
And brings one sacred Immortality;
Thou livest in thy traces left on earth
Thou hYest in thy childrens memory.
And one of these, binding the varied flowers
With tinted petals and with shining leaves,
Fallen on his path in sad ami happy hours
AS might bind the ripened corn in sheaves,
Dear blossoms of the heart and brain-such SPRAYS
And blooms as wither not, but nod and wave
Forever,-the completed garland lays,
Withloving hands, upon thy quiet grave.''
To show the lofty and fervid genuineness of
the muse that re sings, We quote brief pas
sage from the remarkable piece named INA
ture and Love-:
ga dearer hope than nature gives
Forever lives,
Filling my SOUL here floods my heart
A Joy apart
From seas or flowers OF glowing moons
Or suns or moons:
Through all the glory and the grace
l see thy face;
In the waves whisper, soft and clear,
Thy voice hear
Thy smile through every hour doth fall,
And blesses all''
The work of Owen Innsly is especially to be
praised for its triumphant affirmative charac-
ter, joy breaking through pain, light smiling
over darkness. Complaint and despair help
no one, but victory and thanks do. "Gifts of
the Gods' well illustrates this quality:
"The gods hestow on men wisdom and art
To stir with noble counsel and brave deed
The tagging pulses of fellow-heart
And minister to need,
To pierce the subtle secrets of the globe,
To read the records of the lands and seas
And stars that seam the midnight's sable robe
Great Natures mysteries.
And that all love the breasts of all NAV reach
And into new, exalted regions lift,
They send the power of soul-compellipg speech
And Songs diViner gift.
From me they yelled their higher knowledge hid
The paths of light and calm that lie above
The common round-ny feeble lspings child,
But taught me how to love-"
Compared with the hobble of much of our
superhuous verse, the mechanical swing of
more, how rare in its unobtrusive ease is the
music of the following lines, and how beauti-
fully the imagery rides in the rhythm:
frWithout the walls of Troy the Grecian host
Eneamped, lay. spent and weary with the fight,
Eve after eve they watched the golden light
OF suns whose splendors seemed to mock them most
When most they prayed; for morn on morn they
rose
To suffer fresh defeats and bear new woes.
They could not curse because she was so fair,
The cause of all this ruin; but the bands
of heroes stretched to heavn beseeching hands,
While wrung from lips grown pallid with despair,
A cry arose throughout the camps domain,
Re-echoing far across the barren plain,
Till all the midnight air
One name did bear
Heeni Helen! Helen!
Within the walls of Troy the fires blazed bright,
And song and dance were ga y and wine flowed free
Where flushed with joy and pride and victsry,
They held their revels far into the night,
Nor paused to listen to the warning voice
That babe them rather tremble than rejoice.
But, lifting high their wine cups crowned with flow
ers,
%. loveliest lady of the land of Greece,
Mhose bright eyes, bringing glory, lead to peace,
We 1rfn In bea oil hopnx