The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Edgar Allan Poe [843]
“Graham’s Magazine” has also been out for some time and contains many admirable papers — among which I prefer Lowell’s “New-Year’s Eve”; “Noon in the Groves of the Huron,” by Louis Legrand Noble; and “Valentine’s Eve,” by Mrs. Osgood. The criticisms seem to be from different hands. That on Willis is well-written, and, in general, just; but the object — to praise — is too apparent. There is not a word of censure from beginning to end. This is doing injustice not only to the public, but to Mr. Willis, who is more really injured by puffery than by censure, even if severe. I fully agree with the critic in thinking “Lord Ivon and his Daughter” the best of the long poems; but it is remarkable that, although he has made numerous specifications, he has not even mentioned the best of all the author’s poems, whether long or short. Will you pardon me for copying it here?
UNSEEN SPIRITS.
The shadows lay along Broadway —
‘Twas near the twilight tide —
And slowly there a lady fair
Was walling in her pride.
Alone walked she; but, viewlessly,
Walked Spirits at her side.
Peace charmed the street beneath her feet,
And Honor charmed the air,
And all astir looked kind on her,
And called her good as fair,
For all God ever gave to her
She kept with chary care.
She kept with care her beauties rare
From lovers warm and true;
For her heart was cold to all but gold,
And the rich came not to woo.
Ah! honored well are charms to sell
If priests the selling do.
Now walking there was one more fair,
A slight girl, lilly-pale,
And she had unseen company
To make the spirit quail —
‘Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn,
And nothing could avail.
No mercy now can clear her brow
For this world’s peace to pray,
For, as love’s wild prayer dissolved in air,
Her woman’s heart gave way;
And the sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven,
By man is cursed alway.
In the review of Mr. Horne’s [[”]]New Spirit of the Age,” I am somewhat surprised to find the critic lauding, in especial, the notice of Thomas Ingolsby — a flippant and vain attempt at severity — and one of the three or four papers in the volume not written by Mr. Horne. It is preposterous, also, to hear anything like commendation of that last and greatest of all absurdities, Griswold’s Appendix to D’Israeli’s “Curiosities of Literature.” The engravings are excellent — barring always the lace-work. The view of the “Cave in the Rock” is one of the very finest which ever appeared in a Magazine.
In point of natural beauty, as well as of convenience, the harbor of New-York has scarcely