Half-awake servant-maids unfastening drowsy shutters Up at the windows, or down, letting in the air by the A doorway; School-boys, school-girls soon, with slate, portfolio, satchel, companions on a sea-voyage. The tales are as homely in style and incident as those of Crabbe, but are less interesting and less poetical. number of small occasional pieces, 'poems of the inner life,' were thrown off from time to time by the poet; and a selection from his papers, with letters and a memoir, edited by his widow, was published in two volumes in 1869. Autumn in the Highlands. It was on Saturday eve, in the gorgeous bright October, Then when brackens are changed and heather-blooms are faded, And amid russet of heather and fern, green trees are bonnie; Alders are green, and oaks; the rowan scarlet and yellow; One great glory of broad gold pieces appears the aspen, And the jewels of gold that were hung in the hair of the birch-tree, Pendulous, here and there, her coronet, necklace, and ear-rings, Cover her now o'er and o'er; she is weary, and scatters them from her. There upon Saturday eve, in the gorgeous bright October, Under the alders knitting, gave Elspie her troth to Philip, For as they talked, anon she said: 'It is well, Mr Philip; Yes, it is well: I have spoken and learned a deal with the teacher. At the last I told him all; I could not help it; And it came easier with him than could have been with my father; And he calmly approved as one that had fully considered. Yes, it is well, I have hoped, though quite too great and sudden; I am so fearful, I think it ought not to be for years yet; I am afraid, but believe in you; and I trust to the teacher; You have done all things gravely and temperate, not as in passion; And the teacher is prudent, and surely can tell what is likely. What my father will say, I know not; we will obey him : But for myself, I could dare to believe all well, and venture. O Mr Philip, may it never hereafter seem to be different!' And she hid her face-oh, where, but in Philip's bosom. Morning in the City. As the light of day enters some populous city, Shaming away, ere it come, by the chilly day-streak signal, High and low, the misusers of night, shaming out the gas-lamps All the great empty streets are flooded with broadening clearness, Which, withal, by inscrutable simultaneous access Permeates far and pierces to the very cellars lying in Narrow high back-lane, and court, and alley of alleys. He that goes forth to his walks, while speeding to the suburb, Sees sights only peaceful and pure : as labourers settling Slowly to work, in their limbs the lingering sweetness of slumber; Humble market-carts, coming in, bringing in, not only Flower, fruit, farm-store, but sounds and sights of the Hampered as they haste, those running, these others Early clerk anon turning out to stroll, or it may be maidenly tripping; Meet his sweetheart-waiting behind the garden gate there; Merchant on his grass-plat haply bare-headed; and now by this time Little child bringing breakfast to 'father,' that sits on the timber In a Gondola on the Grand Canal, Venice. How light it moves, how softly! Ah, With no more motion than should bear In one unbroken passage borne WILLIAM WETMORE STORY. The distinguished American sculptor, MR W. STORY, whose Cleopatra' was the object of much interest and admiration in the Exhibition of 1862, has been a considerable contributor to our imaginative literature. His Ginevra da Siena, a long poem published in Blackwood's Magazine for June 1866; his Primitive Christian in Rome, published in the Fortnightly Review for December 1866; and his Graffiti d'Italia, 1868, are productions of genuine worth and interest. In 1870 Mr Story published a singular narrative poem in blank verse on Judas's betrayal of Christ. The poet assumes that Judas was really devoted to his Master, was of an enthusiastic temperament, and believed that, if he delivered up Jesus, a glorious manifestation of the Godhead would take place, confounding the Saviour's enemies, and prostrating them in adoration; but when he saw Christ bound with cords and taken prisoner, he was overwhelmed with grief and horror, and flinging down the money he had received, went and hanged himself! The following is Mr Story's conception of the appearance of the Saviour on earth: Tall, slender, not erect, a little bent; At times, too, gleaming with a strange wild fire When taunted by the rabble in the streets; A Jewish face, complexion pale but dark; Thin, high-art nostrils, quivering constantly; Long nose, full lips, hands tapering, full of veins ; His movements nervous: as he walked he seemed Scarcely to heed the persons whom he passed, And for the most part gazed upon the ground. Besides the above poems and others scattered through periodical works, Mr Story is author of two interesting volumes in prose, Roba di Roma, or Walks about Rome, 1862. He has also published several legal works, and The Life and Letters of Justice Story, his father (1779-1845), a great legal authority in America. The artist himself is a native of Salem, Massachusetts, and was born in 1819. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. The successor of Mr Longfellow in Harvard College has well sustained the honours of the professorial chair. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1819, appeared as an author in 1841, when he published a volume of poems entitled A Year's Life. In 1844 he produced a second series of Poems; in 1845, Conversations on some of the Old Poets; in 1848, a third series of Poems, and The Biglow Papers, a poetical satire on the invasion of Mexico by the United States, the slavery question, &c. In this last work Mr Lowell seems to have struck into the true vein of his genius. His humour is rich and original, and his use of the Yankee dialect was a novelty in literature. In his serious and sentimental verse the poet has several equals and some superiors in his own country; but as a humorist he is unrivalled. In January 1855 Mr Lowell succeeded Longfellow as Professor of Modern Languages and Belles-lettres in Harvard College. In 1864 appeared a second series of The Biglow Papers; in 1869, Under the Willows, and other Poems, and The Cathedral, an epic poem; in 1870, a volume of prose essays entitled Among my Books; and in 1871, My Study Windows, a second collection of essays, most of which had previously appeared in periodicals, and all of which are remarkable for critical taste and acumen. Mr Lowell has been connected editorially and as a contributor with many American reviews and magazines; has edited the poems of Marvell, Donne, Keats, Wordsworth, and Shelley, and also I thank ye, my friens, for the warmth o' your greetin'; I expected 'fore this, 'thout no gret of a row, But the people they wouldn't be Mexicans, cuss 'em! Hints to Statesmen. A ginooine statesman should be on his guard, The darned things 'll up an' mean sunthin' or 'nother. What Mr Robinson Thinks. Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife, Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judec. Invocation to Peace. Where's Peace? I start, some clear-blown night, I hev been gladder o' sech things Than cocks o' spring or bees o' clover, They filled my heart with livin' springs, But now they seem to freeze 'em over; Sights innercent ez babes on knee, Peaceful ez eyes o' pastur'd cattle, Jes' coz they be so, seem to me To rile me more with thoughts o' battle. In-doors an' out by spells I try; Ma'am Natur' keeps her spin-wheel goin', But leaves my natur' stiff an' dry Ez fiel's o' clover arter mowin'; An' her jes' keepin' on the same, Calmer than clock-work, an' not carin', Is wus than ef she took to swearin. Thet lulls, then suddin takes to flappin' Under the yaller-pines I house, When sunshine makes 'em all sweet-scented, An' hear among their furry boughs The baskin' west-wind purr contentedWhile 'way o'erhead, ez sweet an' low Ez distant bells thet ring for meetin', The wedged wil' geese their bugles blow, Further an' further South retreatin'. Rat-tat-tat-tattle thru the street I hear the drummers makin' riot, An' I set thinkin' o' the feet Thet follered once an' now are quiet, White feet ez snowdrops innercent, Thet never knowed the paths o' Satan, Why, han't I held 'em on my knee? Three likely lads ez wal could be, Handsome an' brave, an' not tu knowin'? I set an' look into the blaze Whose natur', jes' like theirn, keeps climbin', Ez long 'z it lives, in shinin' ways, An' half despise myself for rhymin'. Wut's words to them whose faith an' truth Flashed on afore the charge's thunder, Thet rived the rebel line asunder? 'Tan't right to hev the young go fust, Nothin' but tells us wut we miss, Ther' 's gaps our lives can't never fay in, An' thet world seems so fur from this Lef' for us loafers to grow gray in! My eyes cloud up for rain; my mouth Will take to twitchin' roun' the corners; I pity mothers, tu, down South, For all they sot among the scorners : I'd sooner take my chance to stan' At Jedgment where your meanest slave is, Than at God's bar hol' up a han' Ez drippin' red ez yourn, Jeff Davis ! An' step that proves ye Victory's daughter! Longin' for you, our sperits wilt Like shipwrecked men's on raf's for water! Come, while our country feels the lift Of a gret instinct shoutin' forwards, An' knows thet freedom an't a gift Thet tarries long in han's o' cowards! Come, sech ez mothers prayed for, when They kissed their cross with lips thet quivered, An' bring fair wages for brave men, A nation saved, a race delivered! The Courtin'. Zekle crep up, quite unbeknown, Agin' the chimbly crooknecks hung, The ole queen's arm that gran'ther Young The wannut logs shot sparkles out Towards the pootiest, bless her! The very room, coz she wuz in, She heerd a foot an' knowed it, tu, Like sparks in burnt-up paper. MATTHEW ARNOLD. The eldest son of the celebrated Dr Arnold of Rugby has inherited no small share of his father's critical talent and independent judgment. MATTHEW ARNOLD was born at Laleham, near Staines, in Middlesex, December 24, 1822. He won the Newdigate Prize at Oxford in 1843, by a poem on Cromwell, and was elected a Fellow of Oriel College in 1845. In 1847 the Marquis of Lansdowne nominated him his private secretary, and he held this post till 1851, when he was appointed one of the government school inspectors. Previous to this, Mr Arnold published anonymously The Strayed Reveller, and other Poems; in 1853 appeared Empedocles on Etna, and other Poems; and in 1854, Poems, the first volume to which his name was attached, and which consisted of selections from the previous two volumes, with the addition of some new pieces. In 1857 Mr Arnold was elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford; and in the year following he published Merope, a tragedy after the antique, with a preface, in which he explains and comments on the principles of the Greek tragedy. In 1861 he published Three Lectures On Translating Homer; and in 1867 a new volume of Poems. In 1869 he issued a collected edition of his Poems in two volumes, the first narrative and elegiac, the second dramatic and lyric. As a poet, Mr Arnold may be ranked with Lord Lytton; he is a classic and elaborate versifier, often graceful, but without the energy and fire of the true poet. His prose works include Essays on Criticism, 1865; On the Study of Celtic Literature, 1867; Culture and Anarchy, 1869; St Paul and Protestantism, 1870; &c. A somewhat haughty aristocratic spirit pervades these essays. Mr Arnold has no patience with the middle-class 'Philistines,' the dullards and haters of light, who care only for what is material and practical. He is also a zealous Churchman, with little regard for Nonconformists or Puritans; yet in all these treatises are fine trains of thought and criticism, and original suggestive observations from which all sects may profit. Mr Arnold has received the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws from both Edinburgh and Oxford universities. The following is a specimen of Mr Arnold's blank verse: Mycerinus. Mycerinus, son of Cheops, reigned over Egypt. He was a just king, according to Herodotus, but an oracle proclaimed that he was to live but six years longer, on which he abdicated his throne, and, accompanied by a band of revellers, retired to the silence of the groves and woods.' There by the river banks he wandered on Flushed guests, and golden goblets, foamed with wine; It may be that sometimes his wondering soul Nor, palled with its own fullness, ebbed and died Children Asleep.-From Tristram and Isrult. One little wandering arm is thrown Lines written in Kensington Gardens. In this lone open glade I lie, Screened by deep boughs on either hand, And, at its head, to stay the eye, Those dark-crowned, red-boled pine-trees stand. Birds here make song; each bird has his How green under the boughs it is! How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come! Deep in her unknown day's employ. Where the tired angler lies, stretched out, And, eased of basket and of rod, Counts his day's spoil, his spotted trout. In the huge world which roars hard by Was breathed on by the rural Pan. I on men's impious uproar hurled Yet here is peace for ever new! Then to their happy rest they pass, The flowers close, the birds are fed, The night comes down upon the grass, The child sleeps warmly in his bed. Calm soul of all things! make it mine To feel, amid the city's jar, That there abides a peace of thine, Man did not make, and cannot mar! The will to neither strive nor cry, The power to feel with others, give! Calm, calm me more, nor let me die Before I have begun to live. DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI-MISS ROSSETTI. An English artist, MR D. G. ROSSETTI, one of the originators of what is termed the Pre-Raphaelite style of art, or imitation of the early Italian painters, with their vivid colours, minute details, and careful finish, is known also as a poet and translator. In 1861 Mr Rossetti published The Early Italian Poets from Ciullo d'Alcamo to Dante Alighieri (1100-1200-1300), in the original metres, together with Dante's Vita Nuova. In 1870 he issued a volume of Poems, some of which were early productions printed in periodical works. Nearly all of them are in form and colour, subject and style of treatment, similar to the PreRaphaelite pictures. The first relates the thoughts and musings of a maiden in heaven while waiting the arrival of her lover from the land of the living: From The Blessed Damozel. The blessed damozel leaned out And the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe ungirt from clasp to hem, For service, meetly worn; And her hair hanging down her back, It was the rampart of God's house By God built over the starry depth, So high that looking downward thence, It lies in heaven, across the flood Heard hardly some of her new friends And still she bowed herself, and stooped Along her bended arm. From the fixed place of heaven she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce Its path; and now she spoke as when The Sea Limits. Consider the sea's listless chime ; Is the sea's end: our sight may pass No quiet, which is death's-it hath The mournfulness of ancient life, Listen alone among the woods; Mr Rossetti is a native of London, born in 1828, son of Mr Gabriel Rossetti, Professor of Italian at King's College, London, and author of a Commentary on Dante (1826-27), who died in 1854, aged seventy-one. CHRISTINA GABRIELA ROSSETTI (born in 1830), daughter of the Professor, and sister of the above Dante Gabriel, is also an author, having written Goblin Market, and other Poems, 1862; Prince's Progress, 1866; Commonplace and other Short Stories (in prose), 1870; Nursery Rhyme Book, 1872; &c. ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. In 1865 appeared a dramatic poem entitled Atalanta in Calydon, founded on the beautiful Greek legend of Calydon, and thoroughly Grecian in form and spirit. This work was hailed, both by the lovers and critics of poetry, as one of the most finished imaginative poems produced since the days of Shelley. 'It is the produce,' said the Edinburgh Review, 'not of the tender lyrical faculty which so often waits on sensitive youth, and afterwards fades into the common light of day, nor even of the classical culture of which it is itself a signal illustration, but of an affluent apprehensive genius which, with ordinary care and fair fortune, will take a foremost place in English literature.' In truth, the young poet had by this one bound *This image of the sea-shell had been previously used both by Landor and Wordsworth. |