New-York tribune., 1896-05-03

what the elements are Of its unending fascination
None of the poets In Mr.. Henleys Anthology con-
clusivey tells these things. William Dunbar, Writ
ing four hundred years ago about LONDON
Sovereign Of cities; semeest in sight,
or high renoun riches. and royaltie,
concludes every one OF his seven stanzas with a
shout of pride. London. thou art the flour Oh
Cities ALL" But Dunbar. with all his enumeration
of London's glories, sings praises. not criticsms
And for the sensitive reader the secret OF the cnar
lies between the lines of the poem-where poetlcal
charm nearly always lies Take, again. the opening
lines OF Herricks "Teares to Thamasis." They run
as follows:
send, I send here my supremest kiss
To thee my sllver-footed Thamasis
1t would not bs possible to reconstruct from these
lines and those following them the builded London
Of Herrick's day. but to any lover of the Ergiisn
capital there Is a world OF meaning in the poets
"Teares. II the sense of longing which the Thames
awoke In Herrck. IN the nameless spell which Lon
don filings the poetic imagination, lies her beau
ty, her supremacy. II Is not that she Is always
stately Paris is stately. grand with the gran
deur OF Rome But she Ia the urban mystery OF
Chrlstendom, the city that haunts the world within
a world that when might let's down her veil' takes
a radiance no other place of human dwellings
knows Then Il London
Farer than the evening air
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.
There is no exaggeratlon In this London at night;
London with her pulse still beating to the fierce
OF the days unfinished labor; London as
she stretches out her innumerable avenues twink
ling with lights alive with millions; London as she
reveals herself to the beated wanderer along the
Einbankment. or through the Park, or across one
Of TIE long bridges, up the sordd Strand, 50
sordid In the midday glare; this London Is poetry
Itself for London Is vast that the detail never az
Itself 1t gets the chance The city spro ads
across its miles miles OF roaring street and echo
ing alley, and even IN the daytime, with the
glare the might. the majesty is present The colos-
sal bulk Of the place captures the mind and will not
let It 60 1t Is true that It Is hideous. But II Is 90
big that looks the whole. not at the obnoxous
trihe and into its grandeur there enters the power
Of London. the history, the humanity OF the spen-
dld town In London Milton wrote when the AS
saut was Intended the City" and It is on the
heroic level of those lines that the mean
est street appeals to the sympathetic eye, to the
eye that all London in a glance, that travels
past this shop that staring eignboard. and resting
the illlmable sea Of human beings forcing their
way through the resounding thorougnfares pauses
on the scene as on some far romantic height and
looks into the heart OF England. while the ear waits
for the silence OF London.
There is an exquisite silence in London, known in
the mldstream of the city's life. at the hour Of
noon. Then when the city booms with sound, II
the wayfarer stands on the curb he can hear the
noise above him. around him. but never near him.
At his side there not sound and he can
converse as In drawing-room miles away from
the city's crash and din 1t is for sensations Ike
this that the poets have loved London: 1t Is the
mysterious submity OF the place that has entered
into their lines. rarely with clearness OF outline.
but often with the same mystery, with the same
poetic vagueness that enchants the lover or those
common and yet magical streets There is, for ex-
ample. Lockers "Piccadllly." Not a majestic poem
this. The touch is light The tone Is lighter: 1t
Is gossamer song OF gayety and humor. Yet
Plccadlly. Incompatible Piccadilly. CLEANS and
sounds through these few blithe rhymes so truly
per,ina ciously. that may begin by thinking
OF Lockers charm but ends with memories OF an
English day. with all Of London riding in state
No other city from ;ts poets songs In this
triumphant way. Paris Is theme. London is an IN
spIratlon. Naples gives hint to the poet. London
takes him and moves him London is irressti-,
bic force
There poets In this collection OF Mr..
Heney's who are charming within the of
lis volume though they have not always appeared
TO the same advantage In other places singing OF
other things; and for the editor himself. he has
done anything finer than his London Volun-
tarles." Ii seems a pity that he did not choose
from among the latter his meodious "scherzan-
do" with its debonair movement and its fulness
OF London life. flowing with light heart Down
through the ancient Strand" But the apostle
OF vrility Mr. Henley perhaps obliged to
choose his third voluntary" the one dedicated to
London Fog. for the concluding pages OF the pres
ent work. And he has counterbalanced the harsh
gr.mness OF that poem by the haunting though
melancholy cadences of his "Nocturn." the
poem beginning Under stagnant sky"
This poem. faced by reproduction after Mr.
histler brings up side of the anthology TO
" hch no reference has yet been made. the pictorial
SIDE which, in the opinion OF the Society OF Illus
traitors doubtless gives the book its reason for be-
ing II would be pleasant II 1t possible |
to agree with the Society OF Illustrators, for with
out the aid OF that organization the anthology |
would not have been made. But interesting and APP
proprlate as many OF these pictures they stll
cannot paint the beauty of London. That must be |
left to the poets; and the poets tell most as
has been said. betw cen the lines. Hid In the soul |
OF London, hid in the poets heart. Is the charm OF
the royal city, the glory OF her ways Wordsworth,
pleading in his strenuous sonnet that THE world |
Is too much with u.s." and turning wistfully to the
beauty Of unsuled nature. nevertheless came |
back to the urban nobility OF London His sonnet |
Upon Westminster Bridge" is familiar enough,
but Mr. Henley has found place for 1t in his an
thoogy and there surely may be found room for |
1t here.
Earth has not anytt ing show more fair;
Dull would he be OF soul who could pass by
A sight touching In It's majesty;
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty OF the morning; silent bare.
Ships, towers. domes, theatres and temples lie
open unto the fields. and 10 the sky
All bright and gittering In the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep ,
In his first spcndor valley, rock or hill;
Neer saw /. never felt. calm so deep!
The river gdeth at his own sweet Will
Dear God: the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
PUBLISHING AS FINE ART.
1t Is a great pity that De Quincy. who wrote so