The Portland daily press., 1891-03-19


been able to raise vivid portraiture of the
strangely diminished nephew of his uncle"
to high poetic value, while retaining also
the idiom of reality:
Now there was one who came in later days
10 play at emperor; In the dead OF night
II s1ss1 paPE sR The dawn struggling
With red hands at her throat-a piteous sight
This vigorous declaration of the theme is
followed by some vivid touches:
This was man of tortuous heart and brain,
SO warped he knew not his own point Of view
the master OF dark, mysterious SMILE
And there he plotted by the stored Seine
And In the fairy gardens of st. Cloud,
Inc SPHINX that puzzled Europe, for awhile
Then the verse rises to a lyric note:
The Furies waited for the hour a ri ana DIM man
Foreknowing that they waited not in vain.
Then fell the day, o day of dreadful wrath,
Bow down in shame, o crlmson-gir Sedani
weep. fair Alsace! weep, loveliest Lorrainel
The historic garden of the Tuileries sug-
gests lines in Mr.. Aldrich's most delicate
goldsmith work:
Nor twilight yet but that Elusive bloom
Which holds before the deep-etched shadows
The fountains still unbraided to the day
The unsubstantial silver of their spray
What darker crimson ever splashed these walks
IMAM that OF roseleayes dropping from their
stalks.
Ii one, in noting appropriations of Mr., Al
drich's verse, is now and then led into the
obsolete fashion Of citing Individual lines
thlsi Is defensible, for In one such line may
well be contained. for the avail of students
OF verse, small, but not incomplete treatise
on the art Of expression.
In the Gloucester sea ballad are found gen.
uine feeling and excellent mastery of a man.
ner not belonging of nature to Mr.. Aldrlch.
Thoroughly characteristic, aud blending Of
his earlier and latter manner, is the soIiloquy
OF one OF the Bearers at the Funeral of a
Minor Poet By kInship and by contrast of
theme, by pure oppositeness of style-it may
suggest to the reader the Grammarian's Fu-
neral Of Browning; but where the one
subtly analyses to strangely medieval Jog
trot OF metre, this other sings. in blank verse
so subtly tuneful that itseems like alfar-away
echo OF rhyme. the elegy of poet who loved
his Mother Earth and praised her
In verses manifold
And delicate, with here and there line
FROM END 20 end In blossom like bough
Inc May breathes on, so rich it was
Nor does this lingering with the ideal pre-
clude vigorous arraignment of the natural
ism of modern art theories.
The mighty Zolaistic movement now
Engrosses us.a miasmatic breath
Blown from the slums. We paint life as it u.s.
The hideous side of it. with careful pains,
Making god of the dull Conn onplace
Beauty alone endures from age TO age
From age to age endures, handmade of God.
The fine technical effect of the repetition
in the last two lines Is worth noting.
The passage of this review must be rapid
through pages which contain such compact
swift tragedy as Act ", and the full-voiced
harmony of the tribute to Lord Tennyson-
modern verse rarely sounds larger harmonies
than these:
50 year by year the music rolled afar.
From Euxinc wastes to f1Owery Kandabar
Bearing the laurel as the cypress wreath
| The finely elastic verse of the monody on
the death of Wendell Phillips; the witchery
OF the Echo-Song; the simple gravity of the
sketch OF Shakespeare; the subtle Memory;
the brilliantly modern drama of Pauline Par
Iowa; the Dresden china preciousness of
Coryden; all must be run through somewhat
lightly. sincs 1t is an absolute need to try to
convey some sense Of the unique charm of
the Middle.aged Poets farewell to ITALIA.
The poem is the voice of a momsnt-happy
the poet who can count even one of them in
his Ilifetime-when the song possesses the
singer, takes shape of itself and is perfect,
Perhaps its charm can hardly be conveyed
by means less thorough than the citation of
the whole poem, from the moment when tie
Muse OF Comedy hands her adorer his hat
and gloves and detaches clinging golden
hair from his coat sleeve, and be replies in
the sweet sorrow of parting:
say it under the rose
Oh, thanksi-yes, under the laurel
| We part lovers not foes;
We are not going to quarrel.
This is very charming GERS de societe-the,
society of Parnassus; even more poetic
with passion that does not too strenuously
break the golden atmosphere of myth, are
the stanzas:
Mine is the glaciers way,
Yours is the blossoms weather
When were December and MAY
Known TO be happy together?
Before my kisses grow tame,
Before my moodiness grieve you
| While yet my heart is fame,
AND all lover, leave you.
When, at last, am cold
Years hence, If the gods so will it
say, HE was true as gold"
And wear rose In your fllet!
One is sure that the only resolve main
tanned by this lover whose loyalty has a ca
price Of remuneration, was to 'look in on the
way downtown, tomorrow" But it will
not be easy to find, even In the most bril-