The Adventurer [pp. 329]

180. Th Advntue
directed the royal succession. During the sueceeding period down to 1780, poetry as well as
society preserved essentially the features which
had been impressed upon them, though the spirit
of both was gradually -changing. Since the
American and the French Revolution, important changes in society, have been rapidly working in most parts of Christendom. There has
been manifested a desire for change, and a restlessness of restraint-and a longing for larger
liberty in all things. Old opinions, good and
bad, have been assailed, and new ideas good and
bad, have been propagated with the utmost zeal.
Effects almost supernatural, have resulted from
new discoveries, and new applications of former ones-impatient expectation of something
greater fills all breasts, and advance is inscribed
on the banners of the leaders of the world's
great army. And what is the history of Poetry
since 1780? Scarcely can we find two considerable poets sufficiently alike to be classed together in one school-Cowper, and Darwin, and
Burns, and Crabbe, and Wordsworth. and Scott,
and Byron, and Elliott, and Tennyson, all original, all reformers, and all different. Thus we
see that Poetry has ever shadowed forth the
forms of life, political and social, which have
been characteristic of different periods.' It is
certain that at present, Poetry does not occupy
in Literature, the relative rank that once it did.
In the earliest periods of its history, Literature
was scarcely anything but Poetry, and we are
not very far removed from the time, when though
the other departments were highly cultivated,
and successful writers in prose were highly esteemed, still the topmost niche in the temple
was adjudged to the great poet.
This can never be again. Prose connects itself with the highest interests of all men. Poetry
has regard chiefly, to the gratification of comparatively a few. And indeed, as the instrument
of pleasure merely, the prose writings of the
present day, are m-oree-eagerly sought for than
its poetry. Novels, Magazines, Reviews and
tales of broad humor, are read with avidity by
all classes, while a new poem excites little sensation by its appearance.
We are not however to suppose that the age
of Poetry is passed never to return. As long
as man continues what he is, he will take pleasufo in elevated thoughts nobly expressed, and
this pleasure will be heightened by the-numbers
and ornaments of verse. Nor let us suppose that
poetry is a mere painted glory that dazzles the
imagination. In some of its sublimest inspirations, it is as literally true, as the plainest fact of
life. The bare annunciation of some truth, is
essentially poetry of the highest grade. Man
is made of the dust, and returnsto dust again,
VeOL. XVI-42
and is bound to earth by arthousand strong ties,
but he is not all earthy. His spiritual nature is
as real in its existence, its development, and its
connections, as his material nature, and the voice
of the spirit is always Poetry. The present age,
therefore, cares little for poetry, not because it
is too real in its pursuits, but because it is too
material in its tendencies. When the earth is
ready to apprehend the whole truth, then Petry
will speak again in a nobler tone than ever.
S. L. C.
THE jADVENTURER.
BY SUSAN ARCHER TALLEY.
"The shore is lonely-the shore is dreary The breeze is fiaint on the waters wide, —
Sinking adown with pinions weary,
Sinking adown with the sobbing tide.
"Slowly upward the waves are gliding Slowly up where the pearl shells lie;
Downward over-the-white sands sliding,
Sin'ing lightly and carelessly.
"Far above in the sunlight glowing,
The sea-gulls wheel in their joyous play,
Far below where the waves are flowing,
Happy things in their gladness stray.
" I cannot rest by the restless ocean,
I cannot stay on the dreary shore: —
Give me the billows' wild commotion Give me the gathering tempest's roar.
"I cannot toil for the scanty treasure
Cast aside by the idle wave;
Mine be toil in a bolder measure The strength of the tempest's breath-to brave.
"Oft, when the low winds faintly sighing
Idly ruffle the billow's crest,
Ihear a voice to my own-replying A tone of promise- tone of rest.
" Faintly over the waters ringing,
Sweet its music, and soft and low;
Ne'er on earth was so sweet a singing It calls, it calls meoh, let me go!
"Oft, as I mark the foam-wreaths gleam'ing,
Pearly white on the midnight strand,
I see a light through the darkness streaming A beacon bright to a fair hd.
"Tell me not of the waing beacon,
Tell me not of the Syren's strainThe fearful never may know or reckon
The joy that lies o'erthe boundless main! "
Bright and glad was the calm blue ocean,
Gaily the light bark left the shore.
Wild and fierce grew the storm's commotion The bark in its beauty returned no more.
R/chmond.
am
.18M.]
ne, -Aidventurer.
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