It may be "that the characters introduced are such as require no peculiar powers of discrimination"—Gertrude is no witch—Albert no wizard. But her we love and him we reverence. These are the best—the holiest of emotions—whether felt in peace and joy, or in grief and pity.
"But Thee! my Flower, whose breath was given
By milder genii o'er the deep,
The spirits of the white man's heaven
Forbid not thee to weep:—
Nor will the Christian host,
Nor will thy Father's spirit grieve,
To see thee, on the battle's eve,
Lamenting, take a mournful leave
Of her who loved thee most:
She was the rainbow to thy sight!
Thy sun—thy heaven—of lost delight!"
"It will not be expected that we should examine each of the smaller poems which complete the volume of Mr Campbell's works. The best of his lyrical effusions are so well known, and their merits so vividly appreciated, that nothing would remain to us but the not very grateful task of moderating the applause bestowed on them. We certainly do not acquiesce in the opinion that on these will rest the future fame of Campbell, or that the genius of this poet is peculiarly lyrical. A daring freedom and a boldness of manner sit but ill upon our careful and polished writer; there wants in all these productions—half-song, half-ode—that appearance of spontaneous effusion which hurries on the sympathy of the reader; the judgment is satisfied, or at least silenced, when the feeling remains cold; and we oftener think that we ought to kindle, than experience the glow itself."
No mention is made by name no farther allusion to "Ye Mariners of England," "The Battle of Hohenlinden," "The Battle of the Baltic," or "Lochiel's Warning," &c.; but on "Theodoric"—certainly Mr Campbell's least successful poem—though "we would willingly have said nothing"—we do, nevertheless, pronounce judgment in a full page of contemptuous vituperation. It was hardly worth the critic's while; we remember something of the sort in Maga many years ago—Posterity will not care for Theodoric any more than the contemporaneous public. Campbell pitched his pipe on too feeble a key—the tune he played, though it had its pleasant turns, was monotonous: his instrument is the lyre—or the "Spartan fife."
In what ode—from Pindar to Collins inclusive—is there "the appearance of spontaneous effusion?" Why should there be? Campbell did not start up from his chair and suddenly sing out, "Ye Mariners of England!"—nor did he desire to "hurry on the sympathy of the reader." His soul was in a state of exalted calm, contemplating the naval power of England—and the presiding spirit of his Ode is that of sedate grandeur. The Battle of the Baltic is a magnificent naval ballad—but there is no "hurry" there—(the more hurry the less speed)—any more than there was "hurry" in the Fleet approaching the batteries—
"As they drifted on their path
There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath
For a time."
Jeffrey well said, many years ago, that there had been no such prophetic strain as "Lochiel's Warning" since the "days of Cassandra"—meaning, we presume, the days of Æschylus when he wrote the Agamemnon. Seer and chieftain speak in character—each a poetry of his own, inspired by the mountains.
"And like reapers descend to the harvest of death,"
is one of the greatest lines ever written; and yet of such a colloquy it is averred "that the judgment is satisfied, or at least silenced, when the feeling remains cold; and we oftener think we ought to kindle, than experience the glow itself!"
The scrimp quotations given are from the "Last Man," and "On leaving a Scene in Bavaria." Both compositions are praised—and justly; but, though both are fine in their way, they are far from being among Campbell's best; and as the "Last Man,"—an inconceivable idea—lies open to attack on all sides, he gets a cut or two from the critic, though not on a vital part. So little conversant with Campbell's poetry is his critic, that of the "Lines on leaving a Scene in Bavaria," he says, "we never met with it before, except in a newspaper some eight or ten years ago!!"
Is the critic aware of the existence
