tion to trifle with topics of the highest moment-to apply the levelling principle to the emotions of the human mind, to hold up to ridicule the exalted thoughts and kindling aspirations of which human nature is capable--can at best charm those only who have failed to enter the true avenues to happiness. Such works may be popular, because the character of the public mind may for a season be corrupt. A literature, consisting of such works, is the greatest evil with which a nation can be cursed. National poverty is nothing in comparison, for poverty is remedied by prudent enterprise; but such works poison the life-blood of the people, the moral vigour, which alone can strive for liberty and honour. The apologists for this class of compositions, in which Voltaire and La Fontaine are the greatest masters, defend it on the ground that it is well adapted to give pleasure to minds which have been accustomed to it, and that foreigners need only a different moral education to be able to enjoy it. Now, without wasting a word on the enormity of defending what is intrinsically sensual, we reply merely on the score of effect. He who adapts his inventions to a particular state of society, can please no further; he depends on circumstances for his popularity; he does not appeal to man, but to accidental habits, a fleeting state of the public mind; he is the poet, not of nature, but of a transient fashion. The attraction which comes from the strangeness or novelty of the manner is of very little value. On the most brilliant night a meteor would be followed by all eyes for a while; and why? Because it is as evanescent as bright; we must gaze at once, or it will be too late. Yet the mind soon returns to the contemplation of the eternal stars which light up the heavens with enduring lustre. Any popularity, obtained by gratifying a perverse taste, is essentially transitory; while all that is benevolent and social, all that favours truth and goodness, is of universal and perpetual interest. These are but plain inferences from facts in the history of literature. The plays of Dryden were written to please an audience of a vicious taste; they may have been received with boisterous applause, but nobody likes them now, though in their form not unsuited to the stage; and as for the grossest scenes, any merit in the invention is never spoken of as compensating for their abominable coarseness. On the other hand, Milton's Comus, though in its form entirely antiquated, has the beautiful freshness of everlasting youth, delights the ardent admirer of good poetry, and is always showing new attractions to the careful critic. And where lies this immense difference in the lasting effect of these two writers? Dryden, it is true, fell far short of Milton in poetic genius; but the true cause lies in this,-virtue, which is the soul of song, is wanting in the plays of Dryden, while the poetry of Milton bears the impress of his own magnanimity. "We are contending for no sickly morality: we would shut out the poet from the haunts of libertinism, not from the haunts of men; we would have him associate with his fellows, hold intercourse with the great minds that light up the gloom of ages, and share in the best impulses of human nature, and not, under the influence of a too delicate sensibility, treat only of the harmless flowers, and the innocent birds, and the exhilarating charm of agreeable scenery; and still less, in the spirit of a sullen misanthropy, delight in obscure abstractions, find comfort only in solitude, and rejoice, or pretend to rejoice, chiefly in the mountains, and the ocean, and the low places of the earth. Their pursuit of moral beauty does not lead to an affected admiration, or an improper idolatry of the visible creation. The genius of the poet can impart a portion of its eloquence to the external world, and elevate creation by connecting it with moral associations. But descriptions, except of scenes where moral beings are to move, possess little interest. If landscape-painting is an inferior branch of that art, though the splendid works of Claude demand praise without measure, landscape poetry is a kind of affectation, an unnatural result of excessive refinement. Description is important, but subordinate. The external world, with all its gorgeousness and varied forms of beauty; the cataract, with its glory of reflected light;' the forests, as they wave in the brilliancy of early summer; the flowers, that are arowded in gardens, or waste their sweetness on the desert air; the noise of the hidden brook, that all night long in the leafy months sings its quiet tune to the sleeping woods;' the ocean, whether reposing in tranquil majesty or tossed by the tempest; night, when the heavens are glittering with the splendour of the constellations; morning, when one perfect splendour beams in the sky, and is reflected in a thousand colours from the glittering earth-these are not the sublimest themes that awaken the energies of the muse. It is mind, and mind only, which can exhibit the highest beauty. The hymn of martyrdom, the strength by which the patriot girds himself to die, God's breath in the soul of man,' the unconquerable power of generous passion, the hopes and sorrows of humanity -love, devotion, and all the deep and bright springs of affection-these are higher themes of permanent interest and exalted character. "Here, too, we find an analogy between poetic and religious feeling. The image of God is to be sought for, not so much in the outward world as in the mind. No combination of inanimate matter can equal the sublimity and wonderful power of life. To impart organic life, with the power of reproduction, is a brighter display of Omnipotence than any arrangement of the inanimate, material world. A swarm of flies, as through their short existence they buzz and wheel in the summer's sun, offer as clear, and, to some minds, a clearer demonstration of Omnipotence, than the everlasting, but silent, courses of the planets. But moral life is the highest creation of divine power. We, at least, know and can conceive of none higher. We are, therefore, not to look for God among the rivers and the forests, nor yet among the planets and the stars, but in the hearts of men; he is not the God of the dead, but of the living. "Those who accord with the general views which we have here maintained, will be prepared to express unqualified approbation of the literary career of Mrs Hemans. Had her writings been merely harmless, we should not have entered into an analysis of them; but the moral charm which is spread over them is so peculiar, so full of nature, and truth, and deep feeling, that her productions claim at once the praise of exquisite purity and poetic excellence. She adds the dignity of her sex to a high sense of the duties of a poet; she writes with buoyancy, yet with earnestness; her poems bear the impress of a character worthy of admiration. In the pursuit of literary renown, she never forgets what is due to feminine reserve. We perceive a mind endowed with powers to aspire, and are still further pleased to find no unsatisfied cravings, no passionate pursuit of remote objects, but high endowments, graced by contentment. There is plainly the consciousness of the various sorrow to which life is exposed, and with it the spirit of resignation. She sets before herself a clear and exalted idea of what a female writer should be, and is on the way to realise her own idea of excellence. Living in domestic retirement, in a beautiful part of Wales, it is her own feelings and her own experience which she communicates to us. We cannot illustrate our meaning better, than by introducing our readers at once to Mrs Hemans herself, as she describes to us the occupations of a day. "It has been said that religion can never be made a subject of interest in poetry. The position is a false one, refuted by the close alliance between poetic inspiration and sacred enthusiasm. Irreligion has certainly no place in poetry. There may have been Atheist philosophers; an Atheist poet is an impossibility. The poet may doubt and reason like Hamlet, but the moment he acquiesces in unbelief, there is an end to the magic of poetry. Imagination can no longer throw lively hues over the creation: the forests cease to be haunted; the sea, and the air, and the heavens, to teem with life. The highest interest, we think, attaches to Mrs Hemans's writings, from the spirit of Christianity which pervades them. "The poetry of our author is tranquillising in its character, calm and serene. We beg pardon of the lovers of excitement, but we are seriously led to take notice of this quality as of a high merit. A great deal has been said of the sublimity of directing the passions; we hold it a much more difficult and a much more elevated task, to restrain them. It may be sublime to ride on the whirlwind, and direct the storm; but it seems to us still more sublime to appease the storm, and still the whirlwind. Virgil, no mean authority, was of this opinion. The French are reported to be particularly fond of effect and display; but we remember to have read that, even in the splendid days of Napoleon, the simplicity of vocal music surpassed in effect the magnificence of a numerous band. It was when Napoleon was crowned Emperor in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. The Parisians, wishing to distinguish the occasion by some novel exhibition, and to produce a great effect, filled the orchestra with eighty harps, which were all struck together with unequalled skill. The fashionable world was in raptures. Presently the Pope entered, and some thirty of his singers, who came with him from Rome, received him with the powerful Tu es Petrus of the old-fashioned Scarlatti; and the simple majesty of the air, assisted by no instruments, annihilated in a moment the whole effect of the preceding fanfaronade. And in literature the public taste seems to us already weary of those productions which aim at astonishing and producing a great effect, and there is now an opportunity of pleasing by the serenityof contemplative excellence. "It is the high praise of Mrs Hemans's poetry that it is feminine. The sex may well be pleased with her productions, for they could hardly have a better representative in the career of letters. All her works seem to come from the heart, to be natural and true. The poet can give us nothing but the form under which the objects he describes present themselves to his own mind. That form must be noble, or it is not worthy of our consideration; it must be consistent, or it will fail to be true. Now, in the writings of Mrs Hemans, we are shown how life and its concerns appear to woman, and hear a mother intrusting to verse her experience and observation. So, in The Hebrew Mother,' the spring-tide of nature' swells high as she parts from her son, on devoting him to the service of the Temple : Alas, my boy! thy gentle grasp is on me, And silver cords again to earth have won me, And oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted, Turn'd from its door away? While through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted, 'I give thee to thy God-the God that gave thee, And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee, And thou shalt be His child. Therefore, farewell! I go-my soul may fail me, But thou, my first-born! droop not, nor bewail me; "The same high feeling of maternal duty and love inspires the little poem, 'The Wreck,' which every one has read. 'The Lady of the Castle,'The Grave of Körner,' 'The Graves of a Household,' are all on domestic subjects. But why do we allude to poems which are in every one's hands? The mother's voice breaks out again in the piece entitled 'Elysium.' Children, according to the heathen mythology, were banished to the infernal regions, and religious faith had no consolation for a mourning parent. 'Calm, on its leaf-strewn bier, E'en so to pass away, With its bright smile! Elysium! what wert thou For the fair creature from her bosom gone, Like spring's first wakening! But that light was past- Not where thy soft winds play'd, Not where thy waters lay in glassy sleep!— Fade, with the amaranth plain, the myrtle grove, For the most loved are they Of whom Fame speaks not with her clarion voice Around their steps; till silently they die, And the world knows not then- But not with thee might aught save glory dwell- 4 "And the same feelings of a woman and mother dictated 'The Evening Prayer at a Girls' School,'-a poem which merits to be considered in connexion with Gray's 'Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College.' "O joyous creatures! that will sink to rest, "Of other spirited, and lively, and pathetic short poems of Mrs Hemans, which form some of the brightest ornaments of the lyric poetry of the language, we take no particular notice --for in what part of the United States are they not known? So general has been the attention to those of her pieces adapted to the purposes of a newspaper, we hardly fear to assert that, throughout a great part of this country, there is not a family of the middling class in which some of them have not been read. The praise which was not sparingly bestowed upon her, when her shorter first productions became generally known among us, has been often repeated on a careful examination of her works; and could we hope that our remarks might one day fall under her eye, we should hope she would not be indifferent to the good wishes which are offered her from America, but feel herself cheered and encouraged in her efforts, by the prospect of an enlarged and almost unlimited field of useful influence, opened to her among the descendants of her country in an independent land. The ocean divides us from the fashions as well as the commotions of Europe. The voice of America, deciding on the literature of England, resembles the voice of posterity more nearly than any thing else, that is contemporaneous, can do. We believe that the general atten tion which has been given to Mrs Hemans's works among us, may be regarded as a pledge that they will not be received with indifference by posterity."-North American Review. [At the conclusion of "The Records" we gave the opinions of one of our most celebrated Cisatlantic critics regarding the poetry of Mrs Hemans, and we think it but right to show now (as has just been done) the general estimate in which her genius is held in America, as evidenced by the North American Review, the best-known and most widely-circulated of the Transatlantic periodicals. Judging from the state of feeling in America-from the ideas of practical philosophy entertained there-and from the pervading utilitarian bias of its prose literature, we must confess that, had we been asked to name any votary of the British muse more likely than another to be appreciated in that country, we should have had very little hesitation in fixing upon Crabbe. And why? Because his poetry is characterised by a stern adherence to the realities of life, as contradistinguished from romance, and because his characters and situations are taken from existing aspects of society, appreciable by all. In this theory it appears we are wrong; and Professor Norton has here done his best to account for it. We are most given to admire what is least attainable; and therefore it is that the spiritual glow which Mrs Hemans has blent with human sentiment-the imaginative beauty with which she has clothed "the shows of earth and heaven,"—and the leaven of romance which she has infused into the communications of daily life, have, as lucus a non lucendo, been elements of, and not the impediments to, her American popularity.] HYMNS FOR CHILDHOOD. [We are quite aware that the Hymns for Childhood were written at a much earlier period than that which we have here chronologically assigned them. They had been sent to Professor Norton for the use of his children, and were printed under his auspices at Boston, New England, so early as 1827. Not, however, having had an opportunity of seeing the original American edition, we are in the dark as to whether the hymns in it were the same in number as those published in Dublin under the eye of the author, or whether she afterwards revised and altered them. It has been therefore judged best to place them here in the order of publication, and as they appeared in this country under the supervision of Mrs Hemans herself. The hymns (as they deserved to be) were very favourably received by the public, and it is only to be regretted that Mrs Hemans did not from time to time add to their number. She thus wrote to Mrs Lawrence with a presentation copy of her little book:-"I send you the fairy volume of hymns. You will immediately see how unpretending a little book it is; but it will give you pleasure to know that it has been received in the most gratifying manner, having seemed (as a playful child might have done) to win criticism into a benignant smile."-Vide Letter to Mrs Lawrence, Recollections, p. 354.] |