not-with this one critique on Campbell-so cold and chary-and it will be allowed by all, that either the one poet has had dealt to him more, or the other poet less than justice. Finally, the critic has not done what he pledged himself to do with the poetry of Campbell. He has not examined his pretensions to immortality, " in competition with the picked champions-the laurelled victors of all preceding ages." He has not examined his pretensions at alleither in themselves positively, or relatively to those of the "great heirs of fame" who have succeeded to their inheritance. Be the genius of Campbell what it may, you will seek for its character in vain through the few disparaging pages of that critique; and certainly, of all "honest attempts to determine a question," we never read one so indifferent to data. Let us, therefore, strictly examine the judgment so authoritatively pronounced on the genius and achievements of this most delightful poet. After speaking of him with high praise, and in felicitous language, as a writer who, "having adopted the same compact and lucid style of composition as Pope's, has frequently athas of excellence,” and " at least secured an immortality of quotation," the critic goes on to say" But if Mr Campbell has frequently rivalled his master in the flow of his verse, and the elegance and force of his illustrations, he cannot be said to share in that keen and vigorous sense, and that penetrating observation of mankind, which distinguish our great Poet of Society. Neither has he frequently risen into those higher regions of poetical enthusiasm from which Pope was confessedly remote." This is most unfair; Pope is "our great Poet of Society". taking society in the limited signification here assigned to it-Campbell is not; and yet his genius is here depreciated, because it does not exhibit qualities for which nobody would look in such poetry as his, and which could not have been exhibited there, without utter destruction of its vital spirit! That " Pope is confessedly remote from the higher regions of poetical enthusiasm," is worse than a rash assertion. He has frequently risen into those higher regions - and so has Campbell in many a glorious flight. And there, their genius, if you choose it, may be compared; but whether you agree with us or no in that assertion, it is not possible for you to disagree with us in this: that it is the height of injustice to seek to detract from the genius of the poet of the Pleasures of Hope, and Gertrude of Wyoming, and Ye Mariners of England, and Lochiel's Warning, because they do not display "that keen and vigorous sense, and that penetrating observation of mankind which distinguish our great Poet of Society"forsooth-in his Satires and his Rape of the Lock; for the Essay on Man" -a philosophical poem of the highest order-does not seem to fall under the above description; but if it do, the injustice to Campbell is just as great as if it had been objected to him that his powers were not of the same kind as Milton's. The critic continues_"We know not whether it will be considered as an advantage or a disgrace, that in an age of philosophical poets, Campbell is without boast or appearance of philosophy. His verse bears no trace of anxious meditation; nor does his heart seem ever to have been implicated in that suspense and vicissitude of feeling that await on speculative enquiry. But as poetry is addressed to the generality of mankind, this absence of a profounder strain of meditation than they are disposed to follow, may be regarded as no fair objection, or viewed even as a circumstance fortunate to his fame." Finely and truly said-in the general-nor have we any serious objection to make to the spirit of such a passage. But we may be allowed to observe, that Campbell wrote his Pleasures of Hope at a time when, so far as we know, there was not a philosophical poet within the Four Seas and pray, where are they now? An age of philosophical poets! Why, except Wordsworth, not one of them all deserves the name. philosophical poetasters, would be Age of pseudonearer the mark. True that his "verse bears no trace of anxious meditation" - why should it? But sentiments such as his, " so tender and true" emotions, deep and high, carrying us with them as they sink or soarwere all the birth of Thought-of Thought "not implicated in that suspense and vicissitude of feeling that await on speculative enquiry" an unhealthy state, not of strength but weakness but clear and untroubled in its creative mood, and genial as the spring. Campbell has written much criticism-without any parade of philosophy; but what has Shakspeare himself said through the lips of Hamlet, Lear, Othello, or Macbeth, that Campbell does not show he understands whether veiled in darkness or in light-as "Airs from heaven or blasts from hell?" "There is, however, another defect manifest in his compositions, which cannot be so readily excused. He has too frequently drawn his topics, not from the stores of his own consciousness, or from actual observations upon the realities of life, but from the learning of books; he has taken the impressions left by the writings of other men for the subject-matter of his own verse; he has been more occupied with words than things. The Pleasures of Hope the earliest, but vet the most successful of his works is more particularly marked, as might be expected, with this error of youthful poets." Why, if it be "an error of youthful poets," it might have been more gently urged against the originality of Campbell, who wrote the Pleasures of Hope a wonderful achievement - when he was under twenty! He could not have had much booklearning at that age, nor much knowledge of the "realities of life," nor large "stores of his own consciousness;" but he had geniusthe mens divinior. Nature had made him a poet-and in the transport, the tumult, of his "delighted spirit," he beautified all the visions that visited it, and gave vent to joy-and to the joy of grief in impassioned music, strong as the soul of a mountain river" like the sea fluctuating in purple light, which is oftentimes a darkness and in its sweetest murmurs still heard to be rolling-a power at peace! To support those charges, and they are serious ones indeed such as, if true, would shear that noble poem of all its beams the reviewer proceeds to quote two or three lines here and there, from the Pleasures of Hope to criticise them and to make a number of rash and untenable assertions of utter failure where success has been complete. The quotations should have been ample, since the charges were sweeping; and the poem should have been spoken of throughout with enthusiasm as a youthful production - whatever may be its faults or defects-full of force and fire-flowing from an exalted imagination and an awakened heart. "At the commencement of the piece we are presented with a succession of situations from real life, in each of which the sentiment of hope is to be displayed in operation; and although, in the course of these descriptions, many lines occur of great beauty, yet nowhere is the sentiment itself, as springing from, and involved in, the particular circumstances of the case, vividly and naturally portrayed. Here he has failed simply from not having fixed his eye with sufficient steadiness on the thing itself he meant to describe. "The sailor who, while stemming the monotonous and interminable ocean, thinks of his distant home, and finds his spirit upheld by the hope of returning to it again, is an admirable subject for the poet. The sentiment felt is one which readily commands our sympathy, and the external circumstances with which it is associated are highly picturesque and magnificent. With these last Mr Campbell may have succeeded, but he has not been equally fortunate in presenting to us the feelings of the man. takes his mariner to the Atlantic'Where Andes, giant of the western star, With meteor-standard to the winds unfurl'd, He Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world.' He then carries him to Greenland, where 'Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, From wastes that slumber in eternal snow' And having set him fairly again on the broad ocean, he gives an enumeration of those images of home which are supposed to engage the mind, and feed the expectation of the sailor. In this catalogue there is not one circumstance which could be selected as a manifest violation of probability; and yet the reader feels throughout that it is a collection of topics gathered from remote sources, not the result of a strong realization in the poet's mind of the feeling of the home-sick mariner." If these freezing remarks be false, as we believe they are, the surest way to thaw them is to quote the whole passage, and well known as it is, it delights us to do so, for a copy of Campbell is not on all parlour tables, though on many thousands. " Angel of life ! thy glittering wings explore Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore. Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields His bark careering o'er unfathom'd fields; Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar, Where Andes, giant of the western star, With meteor-standard to the winds un furl'd, While, long neglected, but at length caress'd, His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest, Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam) His wistful face, and whines a welcome home." What better could our excellent friend, if he will allow us to call him so-had he his heart's content-possibly desire? We feel assured that he is willing to eat his words-and to pronounce-with us-the passage perfectly beautiful. The poet has not given us here "a collection of topics gathered from remote sources"-you must not say so you must not indeed Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half -for were that dog to overhear you the world. "Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles, finding fault with his master, he would bite the calf of your leg--and though not mad he-you might happen to die of the phoby. On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles: Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, "And waft across the wave's tumultuous roar The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore." Had Coleridge written these two lines, Heavens! how the Quarterly would have extolled them to the skies-and Maga rejoiced to join her-for their imitative harmony-that is howlingand what not- while all the ears in the neighbourhood would have been deaf. ened with perpetual mouthings of "OONALASKA'S SHORE," Bless "the wolf's long howl' to the ghastly moon -for the sailor-as he shuddered to hear it thought of his far-away faithful dog "whining a welcome home " -and his "heart was in heaven." In a note, the reviewer says of the three lines above about Andes, "This passage, we believe, is a general favourite. The last line deserves applause; a mountain, viewed from a Her visions warm the watchman's pensive distance, may be visible above as well soul; His native hills that rise in happier climes, The grot that heard his song of other times, His cottage home, his bark of slender sail, His glassy lake, and broomwood-blos som'd vale, Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind, Treads the loved shore he sigh'd to leave behind; Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, And flies as last to Helen's long embrace; Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear, And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear! as below the clouds, and the expres sion magnificence. Had the poet spoken of the Andes as a chain or assemblage of mountains, this image would have been more in keeping." Let us see. We are glad that "the last line deserves applause," and we join in the general "ruff." That "a mountain, viewed at a distance, may be visible above as well as below the clouds," is a rare observation, that shows the critic is familiar with nature. We cannot say that we see any vague magniloquence" in "Andes, giant of the western star," -but, nevertheless, are pleased to think "that it shall be allowed to pass." "The western star," - if we mistake not-is a poetical image, significant of the "whereabouts" of the giant-somewhat vague, no doubtbut meant to be so for his latitude and longitude are both well known to navigators. The passage is said to " be disfigured by the introduction of too many points of similitude with human grandeur." Andes "is allowed" to be a giant and to sit on a throne of clouds; but "with meteor-standard to the winds unfurld" spoils all-and the pensive public thinks of O'Doherty. So did not wethough we have recited the passage to ourselves and others a thousand times -till assured by the reviewer that it " inevitably suggests ideas of military pomp, if not of military office" - and then indeed we beheld the head of the Standard-bearer. Yet may we be permitted to hint, that Andes is not represented by Mr Campbell as the Adjutant. If we mistake not, Milton somewhere speaks of Black Night and her standard - without meaning that she bore a commission in his infernal majesty's service. Andes, though a solitary giant, desired to see and to be seen-o'er and by "half the world." Therefore, he kept occasionally streaming a meteor round his head and shoulders-furnished him by the atmosphere of the Western Star and the poet chooses to call this a meteor-standard to the winds unfurl'd" - without a thought at the time, we verily believe, of the Irish Ensign. A meteor-standard, we cannot, for the life of us think, "accords ill with the mountain's solitary and severe magnificence;" on the contrary, 'tis an image that shows bim to us superbly arrayed in his regalia, with the elements, his flaming ministers. In nature he may be "a chain or assemblage of mountains"but if he be, we commend Mr Campbell for keeping his thumb on that circunistance; nor do we distinctly see, with the critic, how the " image would have been more in keeping with a chain" or even with " an assemblage"-for if he will have it that the mountains were all drawn up like an army, then Andes, who carried the colours, had no right to sit upon a throne, but ought to have been with his own regiment. The reviewer, reverting to his remarks on the passage about the homesick sailor, goes on to say, The "The same may be said, with still greater justice, of the descriptions which immediately follow. ardent expectations of a youth of genius were to be represented. Hope descends in the form of an angel, and after 'waving her golden wand,' proclaims the various glories that await on the successful prosecution of science, philosophy, or the muse. There is here much skilful verse, but is there one glow of honest enthusiasm? That Hope should have been personified, and made the speaker on the occasion, is an inauspicious commencement; but was Mr Campbell's imagination so inextricably involved in the mythology of Greece, that he could not put into her mouth an address to the young poetical aspirant somewhat nearer to our feeling than such as this? Turn, child of Heaven, thy rapturelighten'd eye To Wisdom's walks, the sacred Nine are nigh: Hark! from bright spires that gild the Delphian height, From streams that wander in eternal light, Ranged on their hill, Harmonia's daughters swell The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell; Deep from his vaults the Loxian murmurs flow, And Pythia's awful organ peals below." Here again we shall answer the reviewer by a quotation of the entire passage: "Congenial HOPE! thy passion-kindling power, How bright, how strong, in youth's untroubled hour! |