New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1898-09-04

For iotard Death is dun to see.
But Love is youngest OF all things,
And full Of immortality.
Perhaps the mos, vivid. rapid and impas-
stoned verses are those In which Nj Money
Cou,ts expresses his disgust FOR Parsifai before
the walls Of Kl!ngsors castle. and his own
theory Of love. They run as follows:
An homes, man. who loved his dame
lis BRIDE or mistress, could have riv'n
An easier passage through that fam
or haunting courtcsaus 10 heaven.
Not his 10 parlcy with thoee fairs
To pa!ter with their Reckoning cycs.
or dream o. barterlnE FOR such wares
His own Unpurcadsab,e prize!
No chrisWcd spear need Manhood crave
To pierce the "nchanter Folly's pale.
lie cl"av.s with Passions tr"nchart slave
His path 10 Love the only Gran.
In one ~ Mr. Carman's cleglcs. The Country
o, Har." there is skilful fusion OF tru. and
Imaginative thought with verbal grace Writ
ten FOR the Centenary a. Bahe's Songs ~
Innocence" ,hos.. lines seem t. owe their charm
10 roLethipg NOR, thln the occasion They
disclose emotion AZ wei &c n just appreciation
u Blake. The other po'ms in the book. how
ever lack dcith ana spontancity and they
iail. somehow, to carry conviction. We do not
doub; the sincerity Of Mr. Carnan's enthusiasm
iUE h'die, SN'l'b ana Nl's'DSt ". IL IS flinIly
that his clcges FOR these men do not flow art
lcssly and unsteady. Their gait Is inolastic
and they tell us nothing new They have some
times the beauty Of refined rhetoric. but never
the beauty Of poetry Observation OF nature Is
not the only thing IN verse. Mr.. Carman looks
much on landscape and The sea. but ne fails TO
enrich his pictures OF them with anything more
than the pretty effects OF clever sketcher
he M is nj
about this book in pleasant contrast to the
trvaty Of some Of its predecessors. We
may note H. closing. that Mr. Carman ought
TO stop introducing the buGle into every other
OF his poems. His fondness for the instru-
mcnt is becoming exaggerated.
The pictorial touch Is expected in Mr. Rob-
ertss new book, and it but htfully appears.
Most Of the descriptive poems are. to be cam
did commonplace in conception and coloress
in execution. Neither are the pages devoted to
themes outside OF Ncw-York any more engage
nr The book as whole is thin But there
Is one poem in which the writer who in times
past has often given deep pleasure to his read
ers reappcars and very nearly persuades US
that he is writing at his best We quote My
Garden" In fun, thus:
I have n garden in the city's CRIME,
Where secretly my heart keeps summer ume'
Where blow such airs OF rapture or my eyes
As those blcst dreamers know In Paradise,
WHO after loves Of longing come at last.
Where anguish Of vain love is oVorpast
when the broad noon lies shadcess on the
street,
And ,ralic roars. and toilers faint with heat.
Where men forget that ever woods were green
The wonders OF my garden are not seen.
Only at night the magic doors disclose
Its labyrinths OF lavender and rose
And honcysuckle. white beneath its moon,
And led by IoYcs whit hand upon my wrist.
Beside it's glimmcring fountains | keep tryst
O Love this moving fragrance on my hair
Is IL thy breath or some enchanted air
From far uncharted realms OF mystery
Which | have dreamed Of but shall never see!
q Love this low, wild music in my ears.
IL IL the heart-be Of thy hopes and fears.
Or the faint cadence Of some fairy song
On winds Of boyhood memory bl)"n along!
q Love what poignant ecstasy is this
IJpon my lips and eyes? Thy tOuch-thy kiss.
The compiler Of Poems OF American Patrlot-
ism" is carly IN the field. He has gathered To-
cethor not only old poems familiar IL the an