| Forced from that voice so lately tuned to a strain |
| Of harmony!—a shriek of terror, pain, |
| And self-reproach!—for from aloft a kite |
| Pounced, and the dove, which from its ruthless beak |
| She could not rescue, perished in her sight!” |
Even the Sonnet upon Sonnets, so perfect in the details, is not perfect as a whole.
However, I am not so fastidious as some persons about the dress of a thought. These sonnets are so replete with sweetness and spirit, that we can excuse their want of symmetry; and probably should not feel it, except from comparison with more highly-finished works of the same kind. One more let me extract, which should be laid to heart:
“Desponding father! mark this altered bough
So beautiful of late, with sunshine warmed,
Or moist with dews; what more unsightly now,
Its blossom shrivelled, and its fruit, if formed,
Invisible! yet Spring her genial brow
Knits not o’er that discolouring and decay
As false to expectation. Nor fret thou
At like unlovely process in the May
Of human life; a stripling’s graces blow,
Fade and are shed, that from their timely fall
(Misdeem it not a cankerous change) may grow
Rich mellow bearings that for thanks shall call;
In all men sinful is it to be slow
To hope—in parents sinful above all.”
“Yarrow Revisited” is a beautiful reverie. It ought to be read as such, for it has no determined aim. These are fine verses.
| “And what for this frail world were all |
| That mortals do or suffer, |
| Did no responsive harp, no pen, |
| Memorial tribute offer? |
| Yea, what were mighty Nature’s self? |
| Her features, could they win us, |
| Unhelped by the poetic voice |
| That hourly speaks within us? |
