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    of the poem is intensely modern . The very scene-painting is modern , and occasionally in the best descriptive style , as this : — " A thousand times have I been here alone Or with the revellers from the mountain towns , But never on so fair a morn : —the sun Is shining on the brilliant mountain crests , And on the highest pines : but further down Here in the valley is in shade ; the sward Is dark , and on the stream the mist still hangs : One sees one ' s foot-prints crush'd in the wet grass , One s breath curls in the air ; and on these pines That climb from the stream ' s edge , the long grey tufts , Which the goats love , are jewell'd thick with dew . "

    That species of versified meditation which Wordsworth has made fashionable , but which forgets that Poetry is Song , is well suited to minds like that of the present writer . Here is a sample taken from the monologue of Empedocles : — " We mortals are no kings For each of whom to sway A new-made world up-springs Meant merely for his play . No , we are strangers here : the world is from of old . In vain our pent wills fret And would the world subdue Limits we did not set Condition all we do . Born into life we are , and life must be our mould . Born into life : who lists May what is false maintain , And for himself make mists Through which to see less plain : The world is what it is , for all our dust and din . Born into life : in vain , Opinions , those or these , Unalter'd to retain The obstinate mind decrees . Experience , like a sea , soaks all-effacing in . Born into life : 'tis we , And not the world , are new . Our cry for bliss , our plea , Others have urg'd it too . Our wants have ah been felt , our errors made before . No eye could be too sound To observe a world so vast : No patience too profound To sort what's here amass'd . How inirn may here best live no care too great to explore . But we , —as some rude guest . Would change , where ' er he roam , The manners there profess'd To those he brings from home;—We mark not- the world ' s ways , but would have it learn ours . The world proclaims the terms On which man wins content . Reason its voice confirms . We spurn them : and invent False weakness in the world , and in ourselves false powers . Kiches we wish to get , Yet remain spendthrifts still ; We would have health , and yet Still use our bodies ill : Bafflers of our own prayers from youth to life ' s last bcciich . We would have inward peace , Yet will not look within : Wo would have misery ceaae , Yet will not cease from sin : We want all pleasant t ; nd » , but will use no harsh means ; Wo do not what we ought ; What wo ought not , we do ; And lean u ] M > n the thought That Chunco will bring uh through . Hut our own acts , for good or ill , arc mightier powers . Yet , even when man forsakes All Hin , —is just , in pure ; * Abandons all that makes JJih welfare insecure ; Other existences there arc , which clash with ourn . Like uh , tho lightning fires Love to have Hcope aind play . The stream , like uh , desires An unimpeded way . Like \ ih , the ' Libyan wind delights to roam at large . Streams will not curb their prido The jiiHt man not to entomb , Nor lightningH go anido To leave liiu virtueH room , -Nor ih the wind lens rough that blown a good niiui'n barge . Nature , with oqunl mind , Sees all her hoiih at play , BtieH man control the wind , The wind nweep man nway ; Allow h the proudly-riding and tho ibuiulor'd bnrk . "

    In a similar strain is the following ; it is Wordsworthian in sentiment , and forgets , as Wordsworth always did , that man was made to live as man , and not as the stars or flowers : — " SELF-DEPENDENCE . " Weary of myself , and sick of asking What I am , and what I ought to be , At the vessel ' s prow I stand , which bears me , Forwards , forwards , o ' er the star-lit sea . And a look of passionate desire O ' er the sea and to the stars I send : ' Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me , Calm me , ah , compose me to the end . ' Ah , once more , ' I cried , ' ye Stars , ye Waters , On my heart your mighty charm renew : Still , still let me , as I gaze upon you , Feel my soul becoming vast like you . ' From the intense , clear , star-sown vault of heaven , Over the lit sea ' s unquiet way , In the rustling night-air came the answer—* Wouldst-feheu-ie ^ s these are ? IAve as they . * UnafirJghted by the silence round them , Undistracted by the sights they see , These demand not that the things without them Yield them love , amusement , sympathy . ' And with joy the stars perform their shining , And the sea its long moon-silvered roll . For alone they live , nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul . f * Bounded by themselves , and unobservant In what state God ' s other works may be , In their own tasks all their powers pouring , These attain the mighty life you see . ' O air-born Voice ! long since , severely clear , A cry like thine in my own heart I hear . ' Resolve to be thyself : and know , that he Who finds himself , loses his misery . ' " From " A Summer Night" we take two extracts : — " In the deserted moon-blanched street How lonely rings the echo of my feet ! Those windows , which I gaze at , frown , Silent and white , unopening down . Repellent as the world : —but see ! A break between the housetops shows The moon , and , lost behind her , fading dim Into the dewy dark obscurity Down at the far horizon ' s rim , Doth a whole tract of heaven disclose . And to my mind the thought Is on a sudden brought Of a past night , and a far different scene . Headlands stood out into the moon-lit deep As clearly as at noon ; The spring-tide ' s brimming flow Ileav'd dazzlingly between ; Houses with long white sweep Girdled the glistening bay : Behind , through the soft air , The blue haze-cradled mountains spread away . That night was far more fair ; But the same restless pacings to and fro , And the same agitated heart was there , And the same bright calm moon . And the calm moonlight seems to say—— ' Hast thou then still the old unquiet breast That neither deiulens into rest Nor ever feels the fiery glow That whirls the s pirit from itself away , But fluctuates to and fro , Never by passion quite po . sHess'd , And never quite benuinb'd by the world ' s HWay ¦?'And 1 , 1 know not if to pray . Still to be what 1 am , or yield , and bo Like all tlie other men I wee . # # # # Plainness and clearness without shadow of ntaiii , Clearness divine ! Ye . HeavoiiH , whoso pure dark regionn have no Hign . Of languor , though ho calm , and though ko great . Are yet untroubled and unpaHHiouutc : Who , though ho noble , share in the world ' s toil , And though ko tasked , keep free from diwt and Hoil I will not nay that your mild deep * retain A tinge , it may be , of their Hilent pain , Wllo have long'd deeply once , and long ' d in vain ; But I will rather « iy that you rttmaiu A world above mini's head , to let / him Hce How boundle . sH might hi « hoiiI ' m horizoiin bo , How viiHt , yet of what clear truuHpurency . How it were good to wink there , and breathe free . How high a lot to fill I « left ; to each man still . " Wo might quote much moro , but enough has boon given to indieato tho tone . J ho volume , wo havo ulroudy miid , cannot bo road without admiration } but , aa poetry , it wants individuality , and that choice felicity of

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    42 THE LEADER . [ Satprpay ;

• Citation
  • Leader (1850-1860), Jan. 8, 1853, page 42, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1968/page/18/