ROSSETTI'S POEMS—Opinions of the Press continued.
No nakedness could be more harmonious, more consummate in its fleshly sculpture, than the imperial array and ornament of this august poetry. . . . . There has been no work of the same pitch attempted since Dante sealed up his youth in the sacred leaves of the "Vita Nuova;" and this poem of his name-child and translator is a more various and mature work of kindred genius and spirit. . . . . The whole work ("Jenny") is worthy to fill its place for ever as one of the most perfect and memorable poems of an age or generation. It deals with deep and common things; with the present hour and with all time; with that which is of the instant among us, and that which has a message for all souls of men. There is just the same life-blood and breath of poetic interest in this episode of a London street and lodging as in the song of "Troy Town," and the song of "Eden Bower;" just as much and no jot more. These two songs are the masterpieces of Mr. Rossetti's magnificent lyric faculty. . . . . Among English-speaking poets of his age I know of none who can reasonably be said to have given higher proof of the highest qualities than Mr. Rossetti, if the qualities we rate highest in poetry be imagination, passion, thought, harmony, and variety of singing power. . . . . If he have not the full effluence of romance, or the keen passion of human science, that give power on this hand to Morris, and on that to Browning, his work has form and voice, shapeliness and sweetness, unknown to the great analyst; it has weight and heat, gravity and intensity, wanting to the less serious and ardent work of the latest master of romance.'
The Athenæum.
'To the public in general this volume will announce a new poet. To a small, but influential circle of thinkers, its publication will be only the formal evidence of powers and accomplishments long since recognised. . . . Mr. Rossetti's genius, which delights to track emotion and thought to their furthest retreats, and to grasp their most delicate and evanescent traits, leads him occasionally into the vague and obscure; but his excellencies, uncramped by the hard limitations of theory, have their rise in those universal sources from which alone great poetry is derived. His book evinces imagination, passion, vivid reality of picture, and, as may be inferred from what we have said, special subtlety in seizing the half-elusive suggestions of thought and feeling; but it has nothing which proclaims the apostle of any one-sided, and therefore temporary creed. . . .
'Of "Sister Helen," which displays the lyrical and dramatic faculties in their fusion, it would be difficult to speak too highly. The story is mediæval; in accordance with the arts of magic accepted at the time, a young girl, who has lost love and honour, slowly burns away the waxen effigy of her betrayer, in the faith that his life will waste and expire with the melting wax. The vengeance of the implacable girl, contrasted with the curiosity, deepening into terror, of her boy-brother (who reports to her the prayer for mercy sent by the victim), and the
