POEMS BY A COLLEGIAN, Charlottesville, Va. Published by C. P. McKennie. Printed by D. Deans & Co. 1833.
A neat and unpretending volume of poems, with the above title, was issued last year from the Charlottesville press. As a Virginia production altogether, and the first fruits of poetical genius, emanating from the University of Virginia, the collection deserves honorable mention in the pages of the Southern Literary Messenger.
Criticism might be disarmed of some of its wonted severity, when it is known that all the poems contained in this volume, were written by the author between the ages of sixteen and nineteen. This fact, however, only increases our favorable opinion of his talents, and induces us to estimate still higher his natural powers of mind.
We propose, instead of an analysis of the volume before us, and a regular review of its contents, to extract specimens of the POETRY, which struck us as displaying that fire of genius so necessary to constitute a true POET. Our readers we are sure will agree with us in the favorable opinion we have expressed, after they have perused these specimens.
One of the best and most spirited of the poems, is the Address to Constantinople on its anticipated fall, written on receiving intelligence that the Russian army was on its march to that capital in 1829. We give the two first stanzas.
| "Thy plumes are ruffled now, proud bird! O'er land and ocean, forest, solitude, The echo of thy last, sad shriek is heard!— The glance of majesty Is quailing now from thy fierce eye, And the deep wailing of thy scattered brood Is dying to a murmur. Sadly dark Is thy soiled plumage, and thy gilded crest Has fallen—so often fall the loftiest and the best. Hark! To the tread of the devouring foe!— But ere thou art laid low, Shall not one last avenging blow Be struck? Rouse thee, proud bird! Thy voice of triumph 'mid the nations, yet May swell from mosque and minaret— May with the bravest and the first be heard! Stamboul! proud city of the East! Sister of Rome!—old mistress of a world— Wilt thou from thy high state be hurled? Shall not thy sinewy arm be strung With its accustomed power?—at least Gird on thy mail, and let thy dirge, If thou must die, upon the battle's verge, Amid the shock of arms, be sung!" |
The energy of the language and the appropriateness of the figures, appear to us worthy of high praise.
We have several beautiful descriptions of calm and quiet scenery. What follows, contrasts admirably with the lines we have just quoted.
| "I look upon the stars sometimes—I love To watch their twinkling in the azure ground Of Heaven's o'er-arching canopy, where move Ten thousand worlds—which, starting with a bound— Plough with fiery track, the unseen waves Of fathomless immensity; to see, Age after age, that sky hung o'er the graves Of buried nations, as a tapestry— A funeral canopy when dyed with gloom; That sky, which, robed in majesty, looked bright Upon Columbus, when he sought the tomb Of all his hopes, or strove to snatch from night, And claim the birthright of a world. 'Tis when I view the stars, bright handmaids of the moon— Who walks among them as a virgin queen— That, with those stars to riot, seem a boon From Heaven; I love to see that moon's pure beams— Like lightning shot upon the watery waste, Which like a mine of living diamonds gleams— Each sparkling but an instant—as in haste To hide its liquid lustre in the wave— A jeweled bathing place—a starlit home— Fit—ay, beautifully fit to lave The light of worlds in upper air which roam." |
There is much of that highly romantic and poetical imagery in this, which must please every reader of taste. A stanza of similar style is in the lines to page 32.