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admirable picture of the forsaken garden, the hackneyed but admirable “ All plaided seem to me the best thing Campbell did and plumed in their tartan array,” the out of the fighting vein.

“coming events that a man may admire But in that vein how different a man he but hardly now quote these and other was! As a mere boy he had tried it, or things would save any copy of verses. something like it, feebly enough in “ The But still nothing can touch the immor. Wounded Hussar;” and he showed what tal three-“Hohenlinden,” “ The Battle he could do in it, even when the subject of the Baltic," and " Ye Mariners of Endid not directly touch his imagination, by gland.” What does it matter that no one his spirited paraphrase of the hybrias of them is without a blemish, that “ Ye fragment. His devotion to the style (which Mariners” is almost a paraphrase of a appears even in pieces ostensibly devoted good old ballad by good old Martin Parto quite different subjects such as the ker, king of the ballad-mongers of En. “Ode to Winter"), is all the more remark-gland, that (as a certain kind of critic is able that Campbell was a staunch member never tired of telling us) there is not so of that political party in England which much as a vestige of a wild and stormy hated the war. But it was a clear case of steep at Elsinore, that to say “sepulchree over-mastering idiosyncrasy. It is an odd as we evidently must in “ Hohenlinden " criticism of the laté Mr. Allingham's (to is trying if not impossible ? Campbell, be matchedi, however, with several others who is in prose a little old-fashioned perin his remarks on Campbell) that his se-haps and slighily stilted, but on stilts with lection of Thomas Penrose's poem be the blood in them if I may say so, who ginning,

gave his reasons for thinking the launch

of a line-of-battle ship“one of the sublime Faintly brayed the battle's roar, Distant down the hollow wind,

objects of artificial life,” deserved to write

“ The Battle of the Baltic." And he did Panting terror fled before, Wounds and death were left behind, more, Sempronius, he wrote it. There is

not a stanza of it in which you may not shows “ how tolerant a true poet, like pick out something to laugh or to cavil at Campbell could be of the most frigid and if you choose. There is not one, at least stilted conventionality of diction.” Most

in its final form, which does not stir the certainly he could be so tolerant; but his blood to fever heat. “Ye Mariners of tolerance here had clearly nothing to do England” is much stronger in the negawith the style. He was led away, as nearly tive sense of freedom from faults, only the everybody is, by his sympathy with the last stanza being in any serious degree matter. Indeed before long Mr. Allingham vulnerable; and the felicity of the rhythm recollects himself, and says, “. Battle sub- is extraordinary. The second and third jects always took hold on him.” They stanzas are as nearly as possible faultless. certainly did.

Matter and manner could not be better I do not care much for “ The Soldier's wedded, nor could the whole fire and force Dream” as a whole. Most of it is trivial of English patriotism be better managed and there is an astonishing disregard of so as to inform and vivify metrical lan. quantity throughout, any three syllables guage. being apparently thought good enough to But I am not certain that if I were not make an anapæst. But the opening stanza

an Englishman I should not put “ Hohen. is grand :

linden” highest of the three. It is less Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had important “ to us,” it appeals less directly lowered,

to our thought and sentiment, it might And the sentinel stars set their watch in the have been written by a man of any coun.

try, always provided that his country And thousands had sunk on the ground over- had such a language to write in. Also it powered,

bas a few of Campbell's besetting slips. The weary to sleep and the wounded to die.

*Scenery” is weak in the second stanza, Pictorially and poetically both, that is and I could witness the deletion of the about as good as

can be.

Lochiel's seventh altogether with some relief and Warning” has no single passage as good ; satisfaction. “Sepulchre” is so exceed. but it is far better as a whole, despite ingly good in itself that the sense that we some of the same metrical shortcomings. ought to call it" sepulchree,” as aforesaid, The immortal Field of the dead rushing is additionally annoying, - though by the red on the sight,” the steed that.“ fled way Glorious John would have called upon frantic and far "(and inspired thereby one us to do the same thing without the slight: of the finest passages of another Thomas), est hesitation. But the poem is imitated

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from nothing and so stands above “Ye minor, such as Wolfe of the not unae. Mariners ;” its blemishes are trilling in servedly famous “Burial of Sir John comparison with the terrible

Moore," a battle-piece surely rather than

a mere dirge. The Epigoni of the great Then the might of England Aushed school of 1800-1830 have been on the To anticipate the scene,

whole more fruitful than that school itself,

though nothing that they have done can (where the last line except with much quite touch Campbell in fire, and though good will to help it is sheer and utter pon. they have never surpassed Drayton in a sense) and other things in " The Battle of sort of buoyant and unforced originality the Baltic.” Moreover the concerted mu- which excludes all idea of the mere liter. sic of its rolling metre is unsurpassed. ary copy of verses. One of the earliest The triplets of each stanza catch up and and certainly one of the best of them in carry on the sweep of the fourth line of this kind (for Peacock's immortal “War the preceding in a quite miraculous man. Song of Dinas Vawr" is too openly satir. ner; and that mixed poetic and pictorial ical) was Macaulay. I wish I had space touch which has been noted in Campbell here to destroy once for all (it could easily appears nowhere so well. Although to be done to the satisfaction of any compe. me, as to everybody, it has been familiar tent tribunal) the silly, prejudice against ever since I was about seven years old, I Macaulay's verse which, as a result of an never can get over my surprise at the ef, exaggerated following of the late Mr. Arfect of so hackneyed a word as “ artillery.” nold by criticasters, is still, among critiIndeed I knew a paradoxer once who casters, common. In Mr. Arnold himself maintained that this was due to the in- I suspect the prejudice to have been partly spiration which made Campbell prefix mere crotchet (for great critic as he was sred;" “ For," said be, "we are accus. in his day he was full of crotchets), partly tomed to see the Artillery in blue.”

perhaps due to some mere personal dislike Nearly a hundred years, more fertile in of the kind which Macaulay very often good poetry and bad verse than any simi- excited in clever and touchy young men, far period in the history even of England, but partly and also perhaps principally to have passed since in the course of a few the fact that Mr. Arnold belonged to a months Campbell sketched, if he did not generation which affected to look on war finish, all his three masterpieces. The as a thing barbarous and outword, and poetry and the verse both have done their that he himself had no liking for and share of battle-writing. Of the great po- was absolutely unskilled in war verse. ets who were Campbell's contemporaries "Sohrab and 'Rustum” is in parts, and and superiors none quite equalled him in especially in its famous close, a very fine. this way; though Scott ran him hard, and poem indeed; but of the actual fighting Byron, never perhaps writing a war-song part I can only say " its tameness is shock. of the first merit, abounded in war.poetry ing to me." Still if Mr. Arnold really of a very high excellence. Scott could do disliked the "Lays of Ancient Rome it better than he could do almost anything was quite right to say so; it is not easy to else in verse ; and if volume and degrees be equally complimentary to those who of merit are taken together the prize must affect to dislike them because they think be his. Nothing can beat the last canto it the right thing to do. Tried by the of “ Marmion as narrative of the kind ; standard of impartial criticism Macaulay few things can equal the regular lyrics, of is certainly not a great poet, nor except in which “ Bonnie Dundee" if not the best this one line a poet at all. Even in this is the best known, and the scores of bat-line his greatness is of the second not of tle-snatches of which Elspeth Cheyne's the first order, for the simple reason that version of the battle of Harlaw may rank it is clearly derivative. “No Sir Walter, first. The Lakers were by temperament no Lays” is not a critical opinion; it is a rather than by principle unfitted for the demonstrable fact. Granting so much, I style; though if Coleridge, in the days of do not see how sane criticism can refuse “ 'The Ancient Mariner,” had tried it we high, very high, rank to the said lays, and should have had some great thing. Shel- the smaller pieces of the same kind such ley, though a very pugnacious person, as “ Ivry” and “ Naseby," and those much thought fighting wicked; and Keats, less known but admirable verses which though he demolished the butcher, did not tell darkly what happened sing of war. Moore is not at his best in When the crew with eyes of flame brought the such things. In fact they have a knack ship without a name of being written by poets otherwise quite Alongside the Last Buccaneer.


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For the test of this kind of verse is much mous Cavalier tunes already mentioned, simpler and more unerring than that of “Give a Rouse” is the only one I care any other. If in the case of a considera- much for; the two others are artificial ble number of persons of different ages, with anything but cavalier artificiality. educations, ranks, and so forth, it induces “ Hervé Riel” is not quite a war-song a desire to walk up and down the room, to (albeit the art of judicious ruoding away is shout, to send their fists into somebody no small part of war) but bas more of the else's face, then it is good and there is no true spirit. “Through the Metidja" more more to be said. That it does not cause still (for all its mannerism, it is the only these sensations in others is no more successful attempt I know to give the very proof of its badness than it is a proof that sound and rhythm of symbols in English a match is bad because it does not light verse), and perhaps " Prospice,” though when you rub it on cotton wool.

only metaphorically a fighting-piece, most The still common heresy on the subject of all. For, let it be once more repeated, has make it necessary to dwell a little it is the power of exciting the combative thereon. The great mass of Victorian spirit in the reader that makes a war-song. war-poetry it is only possible to pass as it

We shall find this power present abunwere in review by way rather of showing dantly in many poets during these last how much there is and how good than of days. In hardly any department perhaps criticising it in detail. Aytoun's " Lays is Mr. Swinburne's too great facility in of the Scottish Cavaliers," admirable in allowing himself to be mastered by inspirit, too often fall, so far as expression stead of mastering words more to be goes, into one or other of two great pit- regretted, for no one has ever excelled him falls, - sing-song and false notes. More in command both of the rhythms and the over they are deeply in debt, not merely language necessary for the style. Even to Scott, but to Macaulay himself. Yet as it is the “Song in Time of Order" hits should “The Heart of the Bruce," and the perfectly right note in respect of form “ The Island of the Scots” not pass unno. and spirit. There is plenty of excellent ticed here. Lord Tennyson, whose future stuff of the sort in a book which some critics will be at least as much struck affect to despise, – Mr. William Morris's by the variety as by the intensity of his

“ Defence of Guinevere - plenty more poetical talent, is excellent at it. Some in his later work. Charles Kingsley ought otherwise fervent admirers of his are, I to have left us something perfect in the believe, dubious about “The Charge of manner, and though he never exactly did, the Light Brigade;" I have myself no

“ The Last Buccaneer," that excellent doubt whatever, though it is unequal. ballad where Still more unequal are "The Revenge They wrestled' up, they wrestled down, and “ Lucknow.” But the quasi-refrain of They wrestled still and sore, the latter,

the opening of And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew,

Evil sped the battle-play

On the Pope Calixtus' day, is surpassed for the special merit of the kind by no line in the language, though it and the last lines of the “Ode to the is run hard by the passage in the former North-East Wind” have all the right beginning

touch, the touch which has guided us

through this review. That touch is to be And the sun went down, and the stars came found again in Sir Francis Doyle's “Reout far over the summer sea.

turn of the Guards,” his “ Privaie of the

Buffs," and most of all in his “Red Thread There are flashes and sparks of the same of Honor," one of the most lofty, insolent, fire all over the laureate's poems, as in the and passionate things concerning this splendid

matter that our time has produced. Clashed with his fiery few and won But here we are reaching dangerous

ground, the ground occupied, and some. of the ode on the death of the Duke of times very well occupied, by younger liv. Wellington, or the still finer distich,

ing writers. It is better to decline this And drunk delight of battle with my peers

and close the survey. It has shown us Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy,

some excellent, and even super-excellent

things, some of surpassing and gigantic and the first stanza of “ Sir Galahad” and badness, a very great deal that is good and a score of others. Of Mr. Browning's fa- very good. I do not think any other lan.

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guage can show anything at all approach.

From The Cornbill Magazine. ing it, excluding of course Spanish and

CHAMONIX IN MAY. other ballads. Despite the excellence of CHAMONIX,” said Mr. Ruskin many Old French in this kind, and despite the years ago disdainfully, “is rapidly being abundant military triumphs of the modern turned into a kind of Cremorne Gardens." nation, the modern language of France Mr. Ruskin's disgust is shared by many has given next to nothing of merit in it. of those judicious travellers who go abroad The " Marseillaise itself, really remark- in search of peaceful beauty, and do not able for the way in which it marries itself care to find the society and tastes of a to a magnificent tune is, when divorced London suburb translated to an Alpine from that tune, chiefly rubbish. The valley. Even thirty years ago complaints Germans, — with one imperishable thing were rife of the spoiling of Chamonix, and in the pure style, Körner's “Schwertlied" many who knew the place in the old days (sometimes sneered at by the same class are now afraid of revisiting it. The rail. of persons who sneer at Macaulay), and a way is supposed to bave completed its defew others, such as Heine's “ Die Grena-struction; and it is credibly reported that diere" in the precincts of it – have little · Apollo and all the Muses" have fled the that is very remarkable. In these and valley before the advance of the railway other European languages, so far as I fiend from Geneva to Cluses. But, in the know, you often get war-pictures rendered epilogue to the most recent edition of in verse not ill, but seldom the war-spirit Modern Paioters,” Mr. Ruskin records rendered thoroughly in song or snatch. that he had been there again and found Certain unpleasant ones will tell us that as himself inspired as of old by its “cloudless the fighting power dies down, so the power peace.” When he wrote about Chamonix. of singing increases, that "poets succeed Cremorne, he must have been there in better in fiction than in fact,” as Mr. August. When he penned his epilogue Waller, both speaker and hearer being two years ago, he must have been at Cha. persons of humor, observed to his Majesty monix in the early spring or the late auCharles II. on a celebrated occasion tumn. Luckily, however, that “ Ballad to the The fact is, that every one goes to the Brave Cambro-Britons and their Harp" Alps too late or too early. The perfect and “The Battle of the Baltic” will settle months are May (running on into June) this suggestion. It will hardly be con- and October (counting in a little of Septended that the countrymen and contempo- tember); and of the two May is the more raries of Drayton, that the contemporaries perfect. True, the weather is then a little and countrymen of Campbell, had lost the uncertain; but, in August also, the weather trick of fighting. Look, too, at Le Brun can be bad, and when it is bad it is very (Pindare) and his poem on the “Vengeur," bad. True, also, the “ Alpine rose” is not a very few years earlier than “The Battle yet in bloom. But, if there is none of its of the Baliic” itself. Le Brun belonged "rubied fire,” neither is there any crowd to very much the same school of poetry of vulgarians to put it out. Mr. Ruskin as the author of “The Pleasures of Hope, describes somewhere how he was staying and I do not know that on the whole he once at the Montanvert to paint Alpine was a very much worse poet, The ficti- roses, and had fixed upon a faultless bloom tious story of the “Vengeur” on which he beneath a cirque of rock, high enough, as wrote, and which he not at all improb. he hoped, to guard it from rude eyes and ably believed (as most Frenchmen do to plucking hands. But he counted without this day) was even fresher than Copenha- the tourist horde. Down they swooped gen to Campbell, and far more exciting. upon his chosen bed; "threw themselves Yet scarcely even those woful contempo- into it, rolled over and over in it, shrieked, raries of Corporal John, from whom I hallooed, and foughtin it, trampled it down, have unfilially drawn the veil, made a and tore it up by the roots; breathless at more hopeless mess of it than Le Brun. last, with rapture of ravage, they fixed the The spirit of all poetry blows where it brightest of the remnant blossoms of it in listeth, but the spirit of none more than of their caps, and went on their way rejoicthe poetry of war. Let us hold up our ing.” That, of course, must have been in hands and be thankful that it has seen fit August. In May, the less flaunting Alpine to blow to us in England such things as flowers, the verdure, the clear atmosphere

Agincourt,” as “Scots Wha Hae,' - all are in perfection. Indeed, the valley “ Ye Mariners of England," and a hundred of Chamonix is in May practically deothers not so far inferior to them.

serted. Those who only know it as GEORGE SAINTSBURY. thronged by the cosmopolitan crowds of

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August and September would then hardly the pleasant society of their English recognize it, so quiet and peaceful is it. friends. But it is pleasant, also, to be The hotels have just opened, and there abroad at a time when there is a chance of are to be enjoyed all the advantages due meeting others than the friends whom you to the tourist hordes with none of the can see every day at home. Sometimes drawbacks. You are not crowded out into you meet no other travellers at all; but a little back bedroom over the stables, but with the last week of May, two couples arare given a spacious and parqueted apart. rived at our Chamonix hotel - one Ameriment, with a splendid view on to Montcan, the other French. The Americans Blanc. You are not obliged to look at were from Philadelphia, and were very the fire from a respectful distance behind typical of their kind. They were making a surly, sleepy crowd in the salon, but the grand tour” for the sake of the hushave a pile of logs set alight solely on band's health. Poor fellow! he had been your own behalf by an obsequious waiter. forty years at his business with never a All your movements are not reconnoitred holiday or even a " day off,” and he had, through a telescope, and you do not find in consequence, lost all his hair, so that the summit of every near hill covered with he now wore a luxuriant black wig. His broken ginger-beer bottles and sandwich wife informed us in a cheerful manner that papers. The fat landlord stands smiling “the medical men said he'd go silly if he in the doorway to receive you, instead of stayed at his desk much longer, so they'd bustling you aside to make way for some now come away for a year's holiday, and titled grandee, as would very probably had left the son-in-law to manage the busihappen later on. He welcomes you as ness. They'd come out, bound to see we welcome the early spring birds, heralds everything. There was nothing they were of summer, and, taking you aside, informs going to shirk now that they were over in you, rubbing his hands cheerily, that “it Eu-rope." The husband was a bright, is well monsieur has come, for the chef de eager little man, with sharp, beady eyes. cuisine has just arrived yesterday from Except for the effect of his wig, he looked Turin for the season.” You realize this remarkably youthful. He was enraptured important fact when, half an hour later, with Switzerland. They had just left In. you sit down to a triumph of the gastro- terlaken. "We've seen the Jung.fraw," nomic art. Lucky mortal !-- and all this he said. “ Mont Blank can hardly beat grandeur is for you, and only you ! that.They had only half a day to spare

So it is worth while to go to Chamonix for Chamonix, and were going on by the in May

if only for once in a lifetime Tête Noire in the afternoon. So, in the to feel “monarch of all one surveys." morning, they went out for a five minutes? But there is another and stronger induce. walk. “We've seen it,” said husband and ment. All nature is then at her best. wife triumphantly, coming back. So ChaThe low-lying pastures are not burnt up monix was ticked off from the list, and by the sun's rays; the cascades are more they wended their way further. “For abundant; the air is clearer; the freshly these good people,” we thought, fallen snow gleams more brightly; while the grand new elevator railroad up the the flowers are innumerable, and the but- Jung-fraw' will be superfluous.". The terflies also. The droning hum of the French couple were of a quite different grasshoppers makes a kind of sleepy song, type. The inan was an almost exact copy to the accompaniment of “the sound of of “ Tartarin,” and his wife was a little, fat many waters.

It must surely have been woman, who dressed for mountaineering in May or early June that the poet wrote: excursions in the extreme of Parisian fash

ion. These stayed only two days, and In that thin air the birds are still,

their most formidable excursion was on No ringdove murmurs on the hill

mules to the Glacier des Bossons. Their Nor mating cushat calls; But gay cicalas singing sprang,

“start ” on this occasion was very comic. And waters from the forests sang

The husband wore an enormous Panama The song of waterfalls.

hat, exactly like his wife's, trimmed with

a wreath woollen roses; he got wildly The

poor victims of the public schools excited, and whacked his poor little mule cannot, of course, get away so early; that unmercifully. Two guides, with wild cries, is their one privation in exchange for ran after the couple, as their inontures tore many greater benefits — their Polycrates's along with them up the road. ring, forfeited to assuage Fare. But those These were our only foreign friends at who can do so should take their holiday Chamonix in May. But, foreigners being early. It is true that the early-comers lose | absent, you have a chance of making



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