[Rambler, Sept. 1859.]
[Possibly by N. (all)—Blehl.]
The Life of St. Malachy O Morgan. By the Rev. John O’Hanlon. (Dublin, 1859.) This careful and valuable work has grown out of a sketch which the author inserted in an American periodical, and is one out of a projected series of above live hundred Irish saints. Of these the Life of St. Lawrence O’Toole has been already published, and the Life of St. Patrick is in preparation. In the case of a biographical or historical work, a reviewer looks, first, for new matter, contributed to the stock of facts already known, from sources hitherto unexplored; or, secondly, for a skilful condensation of the scattered notices, the minute details, and the conclusions which are to be found in various, rare, and voluminous works; or, for such original views of scenes and passages familiar to us as invest them with a new interpretation or a philosophical character; or, lastly, for such skill in composition and grace of style as may recommend the subjects treated of to readers who otherwise would never be induced to enter upon them. Of these qualifications Mr. O’Hanlon professes the second. His publication shows not only an acquaintance with the classical works upon his subject, but much collateral reading; while he has availed himself both of the writings and suggestions of contemporaries. His notes in particular show great diligence, and a most praiseworthy minuteness and accuracy. We do not pretend to criticise him in detail; but we are safe in saying, that he has written as a scholar ought to write, and as a biography ought to be written. In his preface he disclaims for his work the graces of composition without undervaluing them. We wish he had kept close to the intention thus implied; at least his line of thought has struck us as sometimes somewhat ambitious. Of this character too, are certain quotations in the notes from Spenser. Walter Scott, Cicero, &c. We should not make this remark, except that his volume is to be one of a series.
Legends and Lyrics. By A. A. Procter. (Bell and Daldy, 1859.) It is difficult to review a volume of poems, from the want of a standard by which to criticise fairly what is so individual in its origin, and so capricious in its manifestations. How shall we weigh and measure what is of so ethereal a nature, and in its very idea so antagonistic to science? We judge of poetry according to our humour at the moment; and what seems to us strained, or affected, or fanciful, or obscure today, will tomorrow touch us as natural and deep. Each of us, too, has his own tastes, and the favourite of one is barely endurable by another. For ourselves, we confess we are not very fond of the free-and-easy style of the present day; we have been brought up in a severer and more classical school. How, then, shall we do justice to a volume which in point of composition too often savours of the age? We are accustomed to think that verse should either be blank or in rhyme; we do not like a mixture of the two. In the ballad metre, where the first and third lines do not rhyme, the defect is only in appearance; for they are but portions of the second and the fourth respectively, being merely broken in the printing for the convenience of the eye. And so of the anapæstic, when four long lines are chopped into eight. But a slovenly fashion has come in (partly in consequence of translations from the German, and the impossibility of imitating in English the double rhymes of that language) of letting the real endings of lines remain ragged and uncouth, with no musical response to sustain them, instead of being, as they should be, “married to immortal” rhyme. Thus the authoress before us has whole poems in which a line like “A little longer still and heaven awaits thee” is matched by “Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten;” though the second and fourth lines rhyme.
However, we did not take up our pen with the intention of being cross with a volume in which critics of every taste must find a great deal to admire. The “Tomb in Ghent,” and the “Sailor-Boy,” are as compositions perfect,—perfect in simplicity, pathos, sweetness, and precision. The same characteristics attach, different as is the verse and subject, to “A Doubting Heart,” “Linger, O gentle Time,” “Changes,” “A Lament for the Summer,” “A First Sorrow,” and others. There are compositions in the volume of a bolder, wilder sort, which others will prefer, and with as much right to do so, as we to attach ourselves to the beautiful and serene; and there are others of a more thoughtful and deeper character, such as “A Woman’s Question;” and “A Parting.”
We should not use so many words unless we considered the volume to be one which no reader will be sorry to have read. The authoress seems to prefer the Past to the Future; in doing so, she agrees with ourselves, who have ever thought Memory more poetical than Hope. Perhaps this is the reason why there have been so few great sacred poets; nature looking back, grace looking forward.