New-York tribune., 1901-09-22

They have TO song. the sedges dry,
And still they sing.
1t is within my breast they sing,
As / pass by.
Within my breast they touch a string.
They wake a sigh
There is but sound of sedges dry;
In me they sing.
The Ithobal whose circumnavigation of Africa
is described by himself in Sir Edwin Arnolds
book Tyrian mariner whose daring and
nautical skill only equalled by his volubility
For seven days he stands UP before Pharaoh
and tells him of where he has been, CT what he
has done and especially of what be has seen.
He brings back with him an African princess
whom he has bought and taken to wife.
Pharaoh rewards him by making him chief of
his navies, and bestows his bounty upon Nesta
also saying:
make thee Lady hence of Amen-ru;
Thine the shrine, and thine its revenue
a piece OF generosity which would touch the
imagination more # it Were celebrated in lines
little more poetical. The Voyage of Ithoba'
jogs along, rather nerveless narrative, diversi-
fed by descriptive passages in which the author
talks about gorgeous spectacles without making
US them. Such action the scheme Of the
poem involves is represented without emotion or
any poetic vividness, witness this humdrum
account of incident not without possibilities
in the hands of a competent writer
Foul from the eastward weakening what We
did
Too weak already. Nimroud drew his ship
Abreast of mine; the oars clashed and our sides
Rasped with the swell. The Syrian captain
sprang
Insoent on my deck-an angry band
OF bearded faces round him. Heretofore
Thrice had / chided him for hests forgot
And deeds undisciplined. Rebellion burned
Desperate in his eyes: Thou Wagons son
Hast brought us here to perish; one days drink
Remaineth and thy tabled shore comes not.
Ge04r moo
Steer thyself onward to thy realm of dreams
But give US of thy store and suffer US
To go back westward with the faVorng wind
Port may be reached and those thou slayest
saved"
Thirsty and lean my oarsmen gazed on him,
Half pleased to hear, half glad TO disobey.
One little spark may breed a mighty hre;
Their hearts were dry for flame. Shall this be
end
OF Pharaoh's hope? l mused shall my Lords
wreck on one coward's raving? From his hand
] wrested NimrOud's spear, drove its broad place
Deep in the traitors breast; stone-dead ne leil
Amid the cartoons on the REDEEMED deck;
And all the ship-folk and the roWers Slared'
And the sea idly played, tangllng our oars
Tbrn cried |: Filing yon carrion overheard;
He dies who disobeys; TO your benches' men
Trsre are about four thousand lines of this
sort Of thing in THE Voyage of Ithobal,' with
not one touch of style, striking epithet one
We'll turned line to cover the poverty of the
authors imagination the commonpaceness OF
his ideas. There is a narrowing element in TINS
spectacle of a gr eat captain pressing for seven
days before the throne of Pharaoh, ana never
contriying to utter word worth hearing.
Mr. Trench tries very hard, in the poem which
gives the title TO his volume, to express sylvan
mystery and the glamor of strange happenings
among the legendary figures OF romantic places
The result is passable rhetoric, but no poetry OF
any serious value. He is better employed when
he is writing a meditative and admonitory poem,
Tot too long, like "A Charge" which we quoted
the other day. short lyrics on themes not too
profound. OF which the book contains half
dozen creditabe examples. There Is hint or
the true poetic impulse in "Maurya's Song
which runs as follows:
Bushes that grow by the black water.
When will see you more?
will the SOrrowful heart forget you,
Land OF the green green shore?
When will the field and the small cabin
See more
In the old country?
What is to me all the gold yonder?
She that bore me is gone.
Knees that dandled and hands that blessed me
Colder than any stone:
Stranger to me than the face Of strangers
Are my own
vn old