Hueless and boneless, that languidly thicken'd,
Or flat-faced, or spikèd or ridged with humps,
Melting off from their clotted clusters and clumps,
Sprawled over the shore in the heat of the day.
Stanzas abound, too, of pictorial power like the following:
The ozier'd, oozy water, ruffled
By fluttering swifts that dip and wink:
Deep cattle in the cowslips muffled,
Or lazy-eyed upon the brink, &c.
Several of the minor poems in this collection are as fully stored with similar descriptive details; one in particular, whose only title is "Song," riots in wealth of illustration from garden-ground—each allusion betokening a habit of observation on the part of the songster, who testifies what he has seen with his eyes, and heard with his ears, and his hands have handled, feelingly, in the world of nature, not merely in the echo of books—the purple iris hanging its head on its lean stalk, the spider spilling his silver thread between the columbines' bells, the drunken beetle, that,
roused ere night,
Breaks blundering from the rotten rose,—
the jasmin dropping her yellow stars
In mildew'd mosses one by one,—
the hollyhocks falling off their tops, the lotus-blooms that "ail white i' the sun," the freckled foxglove fainting and grieving, while
The smooth-paced slumbrous slug devours
The dewy leaves of gorgeous flowers,
And smears the glistering leaves.
Meanwhile, all to the burden of the song, "suns sink away, sweet things decay," we mark how
From brazen sunflowers, orb and fringe,
The burning burnish dulls and dies:
Sad Autumn sets a sullen tinge
Upon the scornful peonies:
The dewy frog limps out, and heaves
A speckled lump in speckled bowers:
A reeking moisture clings, and lowers
The lips of lapping leaves.
Specimens of Mr. Meredith's imagery it were easier to collect than to select, at least so as to do him justice. His similitudes are often striking, sometimes a little overstrained. The forlorn Lady in "The Earl's Return," weary with watching, and wasted with pining regrets, is described at night as putting by
the coil and care
Of the day that lay furl'd like an idle weft[1]
Of heapèd spots which a bright snake hath left,
Or that dark house, the blind worm's lair,
When the star-wingèd moth from the windows hath crept.
- ↑ "Weft" is a favourite word with Mr. Meredith, who is fond of reiterating a pet phrase. We have noted various instances: here is one, of the recurring use of the word "ripple" in reference to music:
