Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1885-12-18
"Chiltle IIarold.'
[ Richard Henry Stoddard IN the Mail and f,
press.

lRichurd Henry Stoddard IN the Mail and EN-
press.
Messrs. Ticknor & Co. start Off finely in
the line of illustrated books with a beau
tiful edition of Childe IIarold's Pilgrim
age, upon which nine of our most accom-
pIished draughtsmon and seven of our
most skiltul wOod-cngraVer- have eXpend-
cd the resources of their art. Compare
sons are OdlOuS, as we all Know, and we
shall not indulge IN them by comparing
this illustrated edition of Il favOrite poet
with any other illustrated edition of any
other iaNOrlte poet. What We VIII say,
however, Is that given our choice between
this poem ana any other poem, or poems,
that have been, or are likely to be, pub
llshed during the present season, we
should give the others the 90 by, and Sc
lect tins, not merely as the most to our
special taste, but rs one of the nOblest and
greatest poems in the whole range of Eng
lish poetry. 1t Is not the fashion to adj
mlre Byron now, and it is the fashion to
pretend to admire w rdswUrth. One may
admire both without iustitutlng Cumpar-
isOns between them, and for OrdWOrth'S
sake they never should he Instituted. for
the author of Peter Bell was Il poet of one
Order and the author Of Childe Harold
was Il poet of another and ii much higher
order, as every reader of Byron feels, in
/ spite of all that MIR. SWlnburne, and Mr..
/ Arnold, and the rest of the W SWOrth-
/ lans may saytO the contrary. lie Is the
| greatest elemental force IN English song
since Marluwe, and not to know this is
to have read all the poets that come be
tween the two III vain There il II Wild
/ fiery, passionate lie in his work even
| when 1t Is most careless which no other
/ English poet except Shakespeare ever at
taiued,a and it is refreshing to turn from the
/ fiulCkIn, elaborate, rocco, make-DelleVe
verse OF the present period to his manly
Il Lii
greatest, we think, in the third and fourth
cantos of Childe Harold, who as an ideal
creation wa, fifty described 10y Shelley as
The Pilgrim of Eternity. How nobly he
wrote let II couple OF stanza, show:
! o Rome my country city of the soul,
/ The orphans ct the heart must turn To- thee,
Lone mother OF dead empires ANA control
/ In their shut breasts their petty misery.
What are our woes and sutlcrancc Come
II Il see
The cypress, hear The owl, and plod your way
| O'crstcps OF broken thrones ANA temples, yc
| Whose agUulc> are evils ut II daN
! y WOII Is at our icCt as irug lie as our clay.
The Nlobc of nations, there She stands
| ChlldcSs and crownlc>S, in her Vuicclc>s woe;
| An empty uin within her wIthelcd hands,
| Whose holy dust wa> scattered long ago:
The Sciplos' tomb contains no ashes now;
| The very s"pulchIc- ne tcnunticsS
OF their heroic jewellers dost thou flow
OId lIbcr. through Il marble wilderness?
Rise, with ny yellow waves, ANA mantle hcl
distress,
Theillu,trationS in this beautiful edition
of Childe Harold are not III the fantastic
art manner of the period, but are conceived
and executed III the good, old-fashiumed
manly style that characterized the best
days of drawing and engraving. They
are Tor the most part beautiful. and when
they do not reach that ideal excellence
they are in all cases picturesque and in
telligent There are no crOtchets in then
for the artists who made them were con