The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-06-30


"Glad as the golden spring to greet
Its first live leaflets play,
Love: laughing, leads the little feet
A little way"
The effect of the last TWO verses here is very
sweet, and leaves an impression upon the i'm
agination of the reader that will not soon be eff
faced. In the several roundels on ga Baby's
DEATH" all of which are very good, may be found
this
.eThe little hands that never sought
L arths prizes, worthless all as sands,
What GIT has death, Gods servant, brought
Inc little hands2
eve ask: but loves self silent stands,
Love, that lends eyes and wings TO thought
10 reach where deaths dim heaven expands
ERE this, perohance, though love know naught,
Flowers fill them, grown in lovelier lands,
Where hands of guiding angels caught
The little hands"
Such roundels as these are permissible; they
satisfy and please, just as such metrical efforts
should The mechanism is so nicely yelled
that one forgets it in the satisfaction
afforded. 1t requires very artistic manipulation
to write ROUNDED that does not jar when it
should run smoothest. In those quoted it is evil
dent that Mr. Swlnburne has accomplished all
that could be desired, for there is no break to
mar the pleasing effect he seeks to produce. But
in others he is not so successful. Take, for ex-
"Gone, o gentle heart and true,
Friend of hopes foregone,
Hopes and hopeful days with you
Gomez
"Days of old that shone
saw what none shall see anew,
When we gazed thereon.
'Soul as clear as sunit dew,
Why so soon pass on,
Forth from all we loved and knew
Comet"
Such n haltino YnaohonioaI tarD,;no4io, 10
simply exasperating, and one is tempted to dis.
count Swinburne with something after the same
style, as follows, for example:
Slush is sweet o friend, how muol
Over it gushi
Art thou likewise fond of such
Slush2
Fragile as a rush.
Love tOtters on a crutch,
HIS earlets all afush.
Now agaiu feel the touch,
And that solemn hush,
Tnat o'erc0mes me with so much
Slush2
Turning again TO Swinburne proper, let us
put one of the many roundels in prose form, again
selecting one from those on "a Dead Friend"
kind as Heaven, while earth's control still
mad leave TO bind thee, thy heart was toward
the change of hours that roll leaves thy sleep
behind. Love, that hears thy death bell toll yet
may call to mind scarce soul as thy sweet soul
kind"
How infinitely sweeter and smoother is Dick
ens's prose-poem on the death of "Little Nell"
and how infinitely more coherent. Few looking
on the above paragraph would suspect that
metrical verse was concealed therein, while the
reader naturally falls into the cadence of Dear
patient, gentle, noble Nell was deadl" 1t were
Unjust to make sweeping criticism
of Swinburne, because some of his efforts are far
inferior to Others No man is always at his
best. But 1t does seem too bad that the good
should be buried under so much that is med-
ocre ana it were better had the Century" of
roundels been cut down so per cent, so that
what would remain would make better aver
age and leave better impression.
The impulse to give one more GROUNDED" is ir-
resistible. If it be faulty in sentiment, it must
be ascribed to the fact that the writer has be-
come thoroughly imbued with the parallel line
of thought in many of the numbers of this little
volume
The little assthat brays while we
Ask wondeiingly, as we pass,
On what new music muses. he
The little asst
What wonders yet may come to pass,
Since he so absent-mlndedly
Chews thisueburrs instead of grass2
He chins the fence but fails to see
How very small he is, alas!
Then hee-haws in minor key
The little ass!
The only apology we can offer for the foregO-
ing buresques is that there can be no excuse for
a writer to foist inferior work on the public
eimply because he has at some time, or, it may
be, at the same time, offered much better work
AS well might host set before his guests
poorly-prepared feast, and one wholly disagree
able because Of former spreads of good things
The author who permits inferior work to be
eau dv-;p in TN hon
double harm--to his readers and to himself. 1t
were far more creditable to write six good SON
nets than to write fifty of Indifferent merit. He
who covers bushel of wheat with a load of
cnaff will in no wise improve the marketable
value of the former, and the latter still is worth
less.