The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Edgar Allan Poe [951]
A dome by link’d light from heaven let down
Sat gently on these columns as a crown;
A window of one circular diamond there
Looked out above into the purple air,
And rays from God shot down that meteor chain
And hallow’d all the beauty twice again,
Save when, between th’ Empyrean and that ring,
Some eager spirit flapped his dusky wing.
But if Mr. Ward’s imagery is, indeed, at rare intervals, good, it must be granted, on the other hand, that, in general, it is atrociously inappropriate, or low. For example:
Thou gaping chasm! whose wide devouring throat
Swallows a river, while the gulping note
Of monstrous deglutition gurgles loud, etc. Page 24.
Bright Beauty! child of starry birth,
The grace, the gem, the flower of earth,
The damask livery of Heaven! Page 44.
Here the mind wavers between gems, and stars, and taffety — between footmen and flowers. Again, at page 46 —
All thornless flowers of wit, all chaste
And delicate essays of taste,
All playful fancies, winged wiles,
That from their pinions scatter smiles,
All prompt resource in stress or pain,
Leap ready-armed from woman’s brain.
The idea of “thornless flowers,” etc., leaping “ready-armed “ could have entered few brains except those of Mr. Ward.
Of the most ineffable bad taste we have instances without number. For example — page 183 —
And, straining, fastens on her lips a kiss
That seemed to suck the life-blood from her heart!
And here, very gravely, at page 25 —
Again he’s rous’d, first cramming in his cheek
The weed, though vile, that props the nerves when weak.
Here again, at page 33 —
Full well he knew where food does not refresh,
The shrivel’d soul sinks inward with the flesh —
That he’s best armed for danger’s rash career,
Who’s crammed so full there is no room for fear.
But we doubt if the whole world of literature, poetical or prosaic, can afford a picture more utterly disgusting than the following, which we quote from page 177:
But most of all good eating cheers the brain,
Where other joys are rarely met — at sea —
Unless, indeed, we lose as soon as gain —
Ay, there’s the rub so baffling oft to me.
Boiled, roast, and baked — what precious choice of dishes
My generous throat has shared among the fishes!
‘T is sweet to leave, in each forsaken spot,
Our foot-prints there — if only in the sand;
‘T is sweet to feel we are not all forgot,
That some will weep our flight from every land;
And sweet the knowledge, when the seas I cross,
My briny messmates! ye will mourn my loss.
This passage alone should damn the book — ay, damn a dozen such.
Of what may be termed the niaiseries — the sillinesses — of the volume, there is no end. Under this head we might quote two thirds of the work. For example:
Now lightning, with convulsive spasm
Splits heaven in many a fearful chasm. . . . . .
It takes the high trees by the hair
And, as with besoms, sweeps the air. . . . . .
Now breaks the gloom and through thechinks
The moon, in search of opening, winks —
All seriously urged, at different points of page 66. Again, on the very next page —
Bees buzzed and wrens that throng’d the rushes
Poured round incessant twittering gushes.
And here, at page 129 —
And now he leads her to the slippery brink
Where ponderous tides headlong plunge down the horrid chink.
And here, page 109 —
And, like a ravenous vulture, peck
The smoothness of that cheek and neck.
And here, page 111 —
While through the skin worms wriggling broke.
And here, page 170 —
And ride the skittish backs of untamed waves.
And here, page 214 —
Now clasps its mate in holy prayer
Or twangs a harp of gold.
Mr. Ward, also, is constantly talking about “thunder-guns,” “thunder-trumpets,” and “thunder-shrieks.” He has a bad habit, too, of styling an eye “a weeper,” as for example, at page 208 —
Oh, curl in smiles that mouth again
And wipe that weeper dry.
Somewhere else he calls two tears “two sparklers” — very much in the style