The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Edgar Allan Poe [896]
“Burns” has numerous passages exemplifying its author’s felicity of expression; as, for instance —
Such graves as his are pilgrim shrines —
Shrines to no code or creed confined —
The Delphian vales, the Palestines,
The Meccas of the mind.
And, again —
There have been loftier themes than his,
And longer scrolls and louder lyres,
And lays lit up with Poesy’s
Purer and holier fires.
But to the sentiment involved in this last quatrain I feel disposed to yield an assent more thorough than might be expected. Burns, indeed, was the puppet of circumstance. As a poet, no person on the face of the earth has been more extravagantly, more absurdly overrated.
“The Poet’s Daughter” is one of the most characteristic works of Halleck, abounding in his most distinctive traits, grace, expression, repose, insouciance. The vulgarity of
I’m busy in the cotton trade
And sugar line,
has, I rejoice to see, been omitted in the late editions. The eleventh stanza is certainly not English as it stands, and, besides, is quite unintelligible. What is the meaning of this —
But her who asks, though first among
The good, the beautiful, the young,
The birthright of a spell more strong
Than these have brought her.
The “Lines on the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake” is, as a whole, one of the best poems of its author. Its simplicity and delicacy of sentiment will recommend it to all readers. It is, however, carelessly written, and the first quatrain,
Green be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days —
None knew thee but to love thee,
Nor named thee but to praise.
although beautiful, bears too close a resemblance to the still more beautiful lines of Wordsworth —
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praises
And very few to love.
In versification Mr. Halleck is much as usual, although in this regard Mr. Bryant has paid him numerous compliments. “Marco Bozzaris” has certainly some vigor of rhythm, but its author, in short, writes carelessly, loosely, and, as a matter of course, seldom effectively, so far as the outworks of literature are concerned.
Of late days he has nearly given up the muses, and we recognize his existence as a poet chiefly by occasional translations from the Spanish or German.
Personally, he is a man to be admired, respected, but more especially beloved. His address has all the captivating bonhommie which is the leading feature of his poetry, and, indeed, of his whole moral nature. With his friends he is all ardor, enthusiasm and cordiality, but to the world at large he is reserved, shunning society, into which he is seduced only with difficulty, and upon rare occasions. The love of solitude seems to have become with him a passion.
He is a good modern linguist, and an excellent belles lettres scholar; in general, has read a great deal, although very discursively. He is what the world calls ultra in most of his opinions, more particularly about literature and politics, and is fond of broaching and supporting paradoxes. He converses fluently, with animation and zeal; is choice and accurate in his language, exceedingly quick at repartee, and apt at anecdote. His manners are courteous, with dignity and a little tincture of Gallicism. His age is about fifty. In height he is probably five feet seven. He has been stout, but may now be called well-proportioned. His forehead is a noble one, broad, massive and intellectual, a little bald about the temples; eyes dark and brilliant, but not large; nose Grecian; chin prominent; mouth finely chiselled and full of expression, although the