Daily thy life shortens, the grave's dark peaceDraweth surely nigh,When good-night is good-bye;For the sleeping shall not cease.Fight, to be found fighting: nor far awayDeem, nor strange thy doom.Like this sorrow 'twill come,And the day will be to-day.
Daily thy life shortens, the grave's dark peaceDraweth surely nigh,When good-night is good-bye;For the sleeping shall not cease.Fight, to be found fighting: nor far awayDeem, nor strange thy doom.Like this sorrow 'twill come,And the day will be to-day.
Daily thy life shortens, the grave's dark peaceDraweth surely nigh,When good-night is good-bye;For the sleeping shall not cease.
Fight, to be found fighting: nor far awayDeem, nor strange thy doom.Like this sorrow 'twill come,And the day will be to-day.
The greatest of practical truths could not be put more stoutly, nor with a finer imaginative touch.
Correspondence from readers on all subjects of bibliographical interest is invited. The Editor will, to the best of his ability, answer all queries addressed to him.
THESElines are written before the date at which the second portion of Mr. Yates Thompson's illuminated books are to be sold at Sotheby's. They have no reference therefore to the relative value of the books as realised under the hammer. The intrinsic value of books, however, should not be measured merely by their market price. Splendid as are the French and Italian manuscripts and the eight printed books which are included in the sale, the greatest interest of all has its centre in the fourteen books which show the gay piety of English illumination between the last quarter of the twelfth century and the middle of the fifteenth. Indeed, no other group in all the hundred books to which Mr. Yates Thompson definitely limited his famous collection has quite the same claims of artistic and historical interest as these. They do not, of course, cover the whole range of English illumination. There is no example of the art of outline drawing, which flourished with amazing vigour in England for a century and a half before the Norman Conquest, convicting Mr. G. K. Chesterton of inexactitude when, in a recent number ofThe London Mercury, he suggests that mediæval illuminators used their paints before they had learned how to draw. The vivacity and grace shown in those early drawings, chastened but not subdued by Continental and Byzantine influences, left traces in English books, and continued to afford a firm groundwork for English illumination for more than three centuries. There are but few examples of them in private hands. Neither has Mr. Yates Thompson any example of the great Winchester School, represented in the tenth century by the Benedictional of St. Æthelwold, now the property of the Duke of Devonshire, and in the twelfth by the great Bible at Winchester Cathedral. But English art had its flowering time in the fourteenth century, and its late summer in the fifteenth; and amongst the books offered for sale at Sotheby's are brilliant examples of both these periods.
*****
Taking the more important of these English books in the order of their date, we have first theLife of St. Cuthbert, with its series of fifty-six lovely full-page miniatures, probably painted at Durham about 1180, a delightful example of a rare type of book.The Apocalypsehas an important chapter to itself in the history of painted books, and the late thirteenth-century copy in the collection is one of the finest surviving copies of that favourite picture-book of the Middle Ages. It has much in common with the copy at Lambeth, and Dr. M. R. James traces them both to the same birthplace, probably St. Augustine's at Canterbury. The copy in the sale has no less than 152 miniatures, some of which seem to have been painted in Italy, whence more than six centuries later Mr. Yates Thompson brought it back to England.
*****
The three fourteenth-century manuscripts in the group are a Psalter of Northern origin, probably written for a member of the Yorkshire family of de la Twyere; anearly Sarum Missal, with historiated initials, in which some of the figure-drawing recalls that of Queen Mary'sPsalterin the British Museum; and thePsalterof John of Gaunt, to whom it is believed to have been given, perhaps on his marriage with Blanche of Lancaster in 1359. Many of the miniatures in this splendid book are enshrined in Gothic canopies and painted in gold and silver; and the silver, so apt to turn black through oxydization, has on most of these pages kept its lustre. ThisPsalteris one of the finest examples of English work which has survived from the second half of the fourteenth century. Mr. Yates Thompson confesses that it cost him a bigger price than any other of his books.
*****
TheHours of Elisabeth yeQuene, so called from the signature of the Queen of Henry VII. written at the foot of one of the pages, is a very rich and beautiful example of that new spirit in English illumination which has been connected with the marriage of Queen Anne of Bohemia to King Richard II. in 1382. Dating from that event, English work for almost the first time takes a character which is quite distinct from contemporary French or Flemish illumination, and the change is attributed to the work and influence of the artists whom the Bohemian princess brought in her train. The strong, clear outline, made by pen or pencil, which had been a tradition from the beginning of English pictorial art, now yields place to soft brushwork. The human figure, which has hitherto been represented by types, assumes individuality and realism. There is found, too, a new character in portraiture, with the features carefully and delicately moulded. The rich borders of books of this period have details unknown in the French work, which, hitherto, has been so nearly akin to that done in England. The kinship can be traced rather to contemporary books painted in Italy and Southern Germany. These English borders are apt to have a certain heaviness in design, especially when compared with the graceful ivy-leaf pattern in French illumination of the same date. Thanks, however, to the greater brilliancy and gaiety of the colouring, which is also a note of the new English style, this heaviness in design is hardly felt. In thisBook of Hoursthe colours, which for the most part are delicate shades of red and blue, heightened with white, and richly gilt, are especially brilliant. The class of illumination which it represents belongs to a limited and distinct period of English art which has yet to be fully explored.
*****
The group of eight books printed on vellum which follows the English books in the order of lots, and in the catalogue is sandwiched between them and the French and Italian manuscripts, is quite worthy of such good company. These printed books show how deliberately and how successfully the first printers sought to copy the manner and also the special beauty of the finest manuscripts of their own age. Amongst these fine volumes are the Mainzde Officiisof 1466; Peter Schoeffer'sJustinianof 1468; an illuminated copy of Jenson'sPlinyof 1472—the type of which had so notable an influence on the work of the Kelmscott and Doves Presses; John of Verona'sValturiusof 1472, the earliest book to be printed in Italy with Italian woodcuts—and this copy is illuminated too. The group shows how far from vain even in an artistic sense was the boast made in the colophon of one of the earliest Venetian printers that already by his new craft
"Calami superaverat artem."
"Calami superaverat artem."
"Calami superaverat artem."
B. H. N.
Messrs. Dobell's catalogue for March, 1920, contains mention of a very curious and beautiful book of designs made exclusively of feathers. There are about one hundred and fifty of these designs, which were made, according to the inscription on the title-page, by "Dionisio Minaggio Giardinero Di saeaGuobernator Del Stat di Milano. Inventor et Feccit Lano Del 1618." His Excellency the Governor of the State of Milan was fortunate in possessing so talented a gardener. Dionisio Minaggio was, in his way, a remarkable artist. His feather pictures, which include a beautiful series of birds portrayed in their own plumage, a series of hunting scenes, illustrations of musical instruments, and a number of charming figures from the Old Comedy, are often quite enchanting. The designs are reminiscent of the best sampler work, while the feathers give a richness, variety, and unexpectedness of colouring such as no sampler has ever possessed. Feather work of a much later period is not uncommon; but we should imagine that so large a series of such an early date is something quite unique. The book is priced at £200.
*****
The catalogue of the library of Mr. Walter Thomas Wallace, which is to be sold in the last days of March by the American Art Association, in New York, has just reached us. Mr. Wallace's astonishingly rich collection includes copies of the four Folios of Shakespeare and of several of the Quartos. Among the Elizabethan rarities areThe Palace of Pleasure, Sidney'sArcadia,The Faerie Queene, and other poems of Spenser. Among the eighteenth-century treasures is to be found one of the two known copies of Goldsmith'sThrenodia Augustalis. Keats and Shelley are well represented. There is a very complete collection of Tennyson first editions and an almost unique series of Lamb books, including a copy in the original binding of the almost extinct first edition ofPoems for Children(1809). There are also remarkably complete sets of first editions of such American authors as Poe, Bryant, Longfellow. We anticipate some new records in the way of prices.
*****
As we go to press the first reports of the beginning of the Buxton Forman sale at the Anderson Galleries, New York, reach us. They emphasize the present flourishing condition of what the late owner of the books in question once, in an unguarded moment, called "The Keats and Shelley" business. Two copies of books by Keats, which belonged to Fanny Braune (afterwards Mrs. Lindon), were included in the first day's sale. ThePoems(1817), inscribed with her name, "Frances Lindon," and presumed to be a presentation copy from the poet, and a first edition ofLamia,Isabella,The Eve of St. Agnes, etc. (1820), inscribed on the title-page "to F. B. from J. K." These two books fetched $1750 and $4000, and, at the normal rate of exchange, £350 and £800 respectively. Even a series of eighteen letters from George Keats sold for $1800. Apparently it is better to be a poet's brother than oneself a poet, for an eight-page autograph manuscript of William Blake's poemGenesis, which is still unpublished, was bought by the Rosenbach Company, of Philadelphia, for $1350.
*****
Other items in this sale were Browning'sPauline, first edition (1833), an uncut copy with the original boards and paper label intact ($2560) and the MS. ofColombe's Birthday, title and fifty-nine folio pages ($1200). Eight hundred dollars, normally the equivalent of £160, was the price paid for a copy of the first edition ofAdam Bede(1859), presented by George Eliot to Thackeray.
A. L. H. and I. A. W.
(To the Editor ofThe London Mercury)
Sir,—I trust you will find room to insert this letter after the space you have given to Mr. G. H. Putnam. We are all grateful for the work that Mr. Putnam has done, but—to use an American phrase, which no doubt he will appreciate—"there are others" who have worked equally hard, and not infrequently with a more satisfactory result. We must thank you, therefore, for your brief Editorial Note in the March issue.
The real reason, however, for this letter is to correct some of the statements made by Mr. Putnam. He glorifies the new American Act because of its liberal allowance of 120 days' "interim" copyright. He has understated his own case. The Act gives sixty days from the publication abroad in which to deposit a copy at Washington, and four months from the date of deposit in which to take up the copyright, subject to the numerous harassing technicalities of the Act. An author, therefore, has 180 instead of 120 days.
In Mr. Putnam's second statement he tries to score a point against Great Britain. As in the former paragraph he understated his case, in this he would overstate it.
He complains that American authors have to make abona-fidepublication in Great Britain within fourteen days of the publication in the United States. He italicisesbona fide. He must have overlooked the fact thatpublicationis an essential part of copyright in the States just as much as it is in Great Britain. This item then can be ruled out.
He contrasts, however, the meagre allowance of fourteen days under the British Act against the liberal allowance of 180 (not 120) days under the American Act. It must be pointed out with due emphasis that when the author is not hampered by typesetting clauses, printed copyright notices, and filing difficulties, time in the matter of publication is really of little account. The American publisher has merely to ship off a consignment before he publishes the book in the States and to await instructions from the London house that the consignment has arrived. There is no difficulty in this step. So long as the technicalities of United States Act still stand we are sick of these counter-irritants, which, now the war is over, "cut no ice."
We have heard that the Typesetters' Union—of which Mr. Putnam seems unduly alarmed—could be made to understand from statistics supplied that they are standing in their own light. But, perhaps, if they are still obdurate on the practical side, they might be influenced by the argument of the idealist "that it is a disgrace to a civilised nation to stand outside the intellectual Union of other civilised Nations." The Americans have had the opportunity of joining the revised Convention of Berne for many years, but have neglected to do so.
It is not astonishing, therefore, that President Wilson cannot influence them to follow him into the League of Nations under the Peace Treaty.
For the last paragraph of Mr. Putnam's letter—his ἀπολογία {apologia} for American authors and publishers—all authors in Great Britain are grateful. If British authors have not followed with appreciation the efforts of their brothers in the States, they should have done so. We gladly now pay tribute to the work of those who so long and earnestly, yet unsuccessfully, have struggled to bring the United States to join the ranks of other civilised nations.—Yours, etc.,
G. Herbert Thring.
March 11th.
[Perhaps Major Putnam will reply.—Editor.]
(To the Editor ofThe London Mercury)
Sir,—Mr. H. W. Crundell thinks that I should explain the absence of a note to my poemMicah; the presence of the one he suggests would have appeared to me an impertinence. Did Gray and Arnold call attention by notes when they adapted a few lines from Pindar? Did Tennyson thus docket what he owed to Homer and Virgil? To me the explanation seems rather due from Mr. Crundell: why he wrote his letter, and from you, why you printed it. However, obviously you think differently, so this occasion may as well serve me to allay an innocent curiosity that I neither intended to provoke nor to baffle. Besides Mr. Crundell's find there is a longer passage fromSalammboin myMariamne. I put a line from Goldsmith'sShe Stoops to Conquerinto myRout of the Amazons, a phrase from Myers' translation of Pindar intoAt Bethel, and a phrase from Milton intoLove's First Communion. Excepting the usual array from the Bible, I believe these to be all my verbal and literal appropriations.—Yours, etc.,
T. Sturge Moore.
P.S.—I have forgotten an unintentional one, a line from Keats inMariamne.
[By printing Mr. Crundell's letter we didn't mean to suggest that we agreed with his argument; we were merely interested in the derivation of a beautiful passage in a beautiful poem.—Editor.]
(To the Editor ofThe London Mercury)
Sir,—Your review of Mr. Doughty'sMansoulreveals an attitude somewhat similar to that of Jeffrey towards Wordsworth. May a humble reader hesitatingly retort the phrase—This will never do? Your reviewer does not think Mr. Doughty should be ignored, but he finds Chaucer easier and more modern, and considers this poetry at best a thing of tough shreds and purple patches.
With this opinion I do not contend, for I do not clearly understand upon what principle of criticism your reviewer is acting; but I should like to suggest that his opinion springs from a misconception which ought not to be nourished by theLondon Mercury. He seems to think that Mr. Doughty's "guttural obscurity of speech," his style in general, is a vital fault. I submit that he assumes rather than proves such a degree of obscurity, and that he puts an excessive value upon the merely formal and conventional graces of English blank verse. He does not recognise that Mr. Doughty is making not only his own poem, but his own style, and that the poetry is to be judged not exclusively by its conformity with traditional verse—the false standard of the eighteenth century—but by the success with which its style empowers and lucidly presents the author's conception. Casual wrynesses, unaccustomed inversions, idiosyncratic punctuation (forgive, dear Cobbett, the long words) do not affect this central question. Your reviewer admits the greatness of the poet's conception, admits that it has the substantial elements of noble poetry—I mean such elements as we find inParadise LostandThe Dynasts—but is unwilling to admit that his form is his natural form, the form that expresses not only his explicit intention but his implicit character, and, therefore, a good form. I submit that Mr. Doughty's style in poetry is the inevitable expression of his mind at work upon imaginative themes. I submit that a true poet does not and cannot choose his style, and that the test of his style is not its degree of conformity with Chaucer's simplicity, Milton's lofty sweetness, Tennyson's effusive delicacy, but the fullness with which itexpresses his own imaginative vision. Mr. Doughty has written, not a few miscellaneous lyrics, but a vast body of poetry in which a perfectly clear apprehension of past and future is presented. His themes are unfolded with such fullness as enables us to judge whether the expression of them, unusual as it may seem, ruins them or preserves them unspoiled, sustains or dulls their brightness. With extreme diffidence I suggest that your reviewer has not addressed himself to this proposition, and that this proposition remains an elementary principle of criticism. And I would remark that Mr. Doughty's own observations upon his style (note toThe Dawn in Britain, Volume 6) might suitably be referred to for a precise statement of his attitude towards the English language.
The principles of criticism do not change, but may be eclipsed or clouded. They are familiar, yet need constant reassertion and illustration. Difficult as it may be to reduce these abstractions to clear and useful formulæ, I think it would be a service to letters if you, Sir, would state and clarify them afresh. Wanting definition and illustration, creation and criticism may become discordant, with unhappy results for each. It is my suspicion of a faint discord that must form the apology for the length of this letter.—Yours, etc.,
S. E.
[We did not dispute that Mr. Doughty's style is natural to him. We merely said that that is his and our misfortune.—Editor.]
(To the Editor ofThe London Mercury)
Sir,—After reading the most interesting paper onJohn Donnein the last number ofThe London Mercury, I wonder whether Browning had not him in mind when he wroteThe Grammarian's Funeral. "An hydroptic immoderate desire of human learning and languages" consumed the "soul by-droptic" grammarian no less than Donne; like Donne even to the crumbs he'd "fain eat up the feast, Aye, nor feel quaesy." He knew nothing, it is true, of "the quaesy pain Of being beloved and loving"; his was a passion of mind only, though, like Donne, he knew the sickness of the body overwrought. The analogy could be traced further.
For more reasons than the tracing of remembrance of Donne in one poem it would be interesting to know how "longe" Browning "hadde ygo" to the earlier poet.—Yours, etc.,
J. R. Rackham.
Queen Mary High School for Girls, Anfield Road, Liverpool, February 13th.
(To the Editor ofThe London Mercury)
Sir,—In one of the scenes of Sheridan'sSchool for Scandaloccurs the following passage: "You may see her on a little squat ponywith her hair plaited up behind like a drummer's...." (Act 2, sc. 2.)
I presume that the underlined words, which have often puzzled me, are an allusion to the manners of the time, with which I am insufficiently acquainted. As none of the editions I have been able to consult give any explanation on the point, perhaps one of your readers would oblige me by throwing some light on the matter.—Yours, etc.,
F. Pellisier.
Remiremont, Vosges, February 16th.
VANDALISMin Egypt is deplored in London, but in the present circumstances we cannot throw stones. Rubbish-heaps are often romantic, and those of Fostât (Old Cairo) contain masses of mediæval pottery and other treasures well worth preserving; but the local authorities propose to create a new suburb by erecting workmen's dwellings all over them. Systematic excavation cannot be hurried, and careful search might throw light on the origin of maiolica.
For the first time perhaps in its long history, the Society has devoted an ordinary meeting to the discussion of Ways and Means. The following are the principal alternatives: (i) To raise the subscription and invite donations; (ii) to extend the franchise and popularise the Society; and (iii) to economise further and lower the output. The argument that thousands are waiting to join in the work of the Society is not convincing; and as about ninety per cent. of the Fellows do not attend the meetings, the publications are their only tangible reward. If the standard is to be maintained, few would expect the same return for half the subscription they paid on joining, but to double the annual levy would be a drastic reform; yet the Society is further committed to field-work of considerable public interest. The rich we have always with us, but their presence is not felt so much here as in America.
During the last few weeks the restoration of the Lady Chapel of Worksop Priory has been in progress. It was a roofless ruin, retaining much fine thirteenth-century work. It is being re-roofed, the fallen portions rebuilt, and missing parts renewed in the style of the original building, the new work being made to resemble as nearly as may be what the old is believed to have been.
This on the face of itsoundsreasonable enough, but experience has shown that in practice the result of such treatment is the reverse of satisfactory. It is exactly what the restorers of the last century did, and what people with any knowledge or love of old buildings deplore to-day, whenever it comes to their notice. It is just such a case as this which goes to the root of the matter in which the Society interests itself, and its customary ruling thereon may be stated in the following way:
1. The ruin should be subjected only to repairs needed for its upkeep.
2. If the site is absolutely necessary to the community for the purposes of its daily life, it has a right to use such ruins and even in extremity to demolish them.
3. Confronted by a similar necessity it may be justifiable to incorporate an old building in a new one. The danger in this case lies, however, in the fact that the desire to restore for the sake of restoration may outrun the actual need of a new building designed to fulfil some special purpose.
Having made this concession to a genuine demand, the Society still stands out against restoration. The new work should be good and in harmony with the old, but it should also be living architecture and not a study in dead style.
As Professor Lethaby expressed it, "Architecture is a current speech, it is not an art of classical quotation."
But the Lady Chapel of Worksop Priory is actually being restored. So, though much more might be said, the case ends here, save for the thought that with better guidance different conclusions would have been reached.
The promoters of the scheme, having so far determined to make use of the ruin, might have asked the advice of a selected group representative of our best men—a group which should include within it one real authority versed in the building methods of the same period as that of the ruin, an acknowledged authority on modern architecture, a representative both of the Society of Antiquaries and the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings. To these one would add a local architect or builder conversant with the local conditions and material.
To such an advisory board would be committed the task of choosing an architect, whose plans would be submitted for approval before being recommended to the promoters.
The scheme may seem to savour too much of the ideal which has no part in actual life, yet it is worth consideration, for from it, one might say almost inevitably, good work must result.
As a matter of fact the Committee does comprise within itself the qualities of such an advisory board, but the above suggestion is made for those who may prefer, for one reason or another, to ask advice elsewhere.
The work of this Society has two main branches: the first is the excavation of Egypt's buried treasures and the publication of careful records of the finds; the second is the preservation and translation of the inscriptions, including papyri found in the course of excavation. The Society has already published hundreds of papyri, the most important being included in theOxyrhynchus Papyriedited by Professors Grenfell and Hunt.
In a lecture given at the rooms of the Royal Society, Burlington House, on Friday, February 20th, on "The Historical Value of Greek Papyri," Mr. H. Idris Bell, a member of the staff of the British Museum, gave a scholarly review of the work already done in the publication of papyri, both in this and in other countries, and laid stress on the necessity for further work in this direction. He pointed out that, although this country was holding its own in the matter of publication of fresh material, it was falling behind other countries in the work of comparing and computing results and the tabulation of the information thus obtained.
The lecturer said papyri help to correct the false perspective in which we see history. We tend to see it as a succession of dramatic events and of great personalities, and economic processes attain a precision and clearness which is not obvious to contemporaries. But this is not our attitude towards our own time, and documents show us that it was not that of our predecessors. Great events of history occur but seldom, and when they do they are recorded from the purely personal point of view. The historian cannot chronicle minor interests, but the papyri serve as the "acid test" of the objectivity of his narrative, and for this reason it is well that the student should supplement his reading of history by some study of documents, and for no department of ancient history have we a body of documentary evidence comparable to the papyri.
Papyri make us acquainted with the ordinary man, his style of living, his domestic relations, and his family life; it thus becomes possible to study the popular psychology of Græco-Roman Egypt, and so, by analogy, to some extent, the Græco-Roman world.
With regard to administration papyri show us the actual working, not the theory, of administration, and the two rarely exactly coincide. So too with law; the practice of the law usually differs from the theory of law, and papyri reveal the practice and show us the applied law.
Turning to religion, papyri mostly illustrate the popular attitude towards religion; there is not much on mystery cults, but they show the attitude of the individual towards the deity. It is also possible from them to trace the borrowings of Christianity from Paganism and to contrast the Christian and the pagan attitude.
The lecturer gave many interesting illustrations from papyri, including letters from parents to children and children to parents, letters of condolence, letters from men engaged upon business or war to their wives and families, which give a vivid picture of the life of the time.
Sir Frederic Kenyon, K.C.B., who was in the chair, in thanking the lecturer emphasised the importance of the study of papyri and the scope this branch of research opened for original work. Here is a vast field of labour, at present only superficially worked; the harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few; certainly they are indefatigable, but more workers are needed if the full value is to be extracted from these papyri. Other countries are alive to the importance of the work, but our own Universities are somewhat apathetic and need arousing.
At the monthly meeting of the Royal Numismatic Society on February 19th, Mr. Percy H. Webb exhibited a portion of a find of late Roman coins from Egypt. The find covered the periodA.D.298-313, Domitius Domitianus—Maximinus Daza, and was, said to have comprised nearly two bushels of coins. The coins which Mr. Webb had been able to examine belonged to the last five years of the period, and were of three rulers only, Galerius Maximian, Galeria Valeria, and Daza. The bulk of the coins were of the Alexandria mint, although Antioch, Cyzicus, and Nicomedia were also represented. The find presented a number of interesting features and afforded an interesting opportunity of testing M. Jules Maurice's work, which it supported in every detail.
Mr. G. C. Brooke read a paper by Mr. R. C. Lockett on "The Coinage of Offa." The most reasonable suggestion for the date of the beginning of the Mercian coinage was after the battle of Otford in 774, but it might be as late as the Council of Chelsea, 786. The mint was probably Canterbury, as seven of his moneyers struck coins for Coenwulf, and three of these worked for Eadberht, Cuthred, and Baldred. Coins bearing the name Eadberht were probably to be attributed to Eadberht, Bishop of London, 772-787. Another penny with the name hitherto not read satisfactorily should probably be attributed to Higberht, Bishop of Lichfield, who was made Archbishop in 787. Cynethrith's coinage was evidently struck in Offa's lifetime, either as a complimentary issue, or in a period of regency during Offa's absence. A classification of the pennies of Offa was proposed, based on their affinity to the coinage of Jaenberht and Æthilheard.
In recent years Mr. Hewlett, who earned his first fame as a romancer, has been devoting himself most seriously to verse. And he has done a very remarkable thing. Two or three years ago, with perhaps twenty novels and several books of poems behind him, he brought out a long poem—The Song of the Plow—which was a new thing in poetry, and which was indisputably the finest thing he had done in either "harmony," an epical poem, which was as easy to read as an excellent novel, and as good to read the third time as the first. There were lovely detachable things in it, but it was most striking when taken as a whole, racy, muscular, original. He followed it withThe Village Wife's Lament, a tragedy of the war, only less striking in so far as it was less long. We have here a collection of his recent lyrics. They have not the outstanding merit of those works on the larger canvas, but they are far superior to his early lyrics, and bear new witness after their manner to his late poetic flowering.
The poems are all rural: mainly Wiltshire, the ancient downs, the valleys, the villages, the spire of Salisbury. But, save for a few delicious fancies about flowers, they all contain the human too. Landscape for Mr. Hewlett, however beautiful, however forbidding, is always a background for human character and human history. On that great hill the ledges were planted with corn by primitive men; on that other the Roman sentries stood; in that field there is a ploughman whose eyes and hair and thews are Saxon. Quotation from him is difficult, because of the very largeness of his imagination; his details are so subordinate that, though he usually gets the phrase right in its context, he seldom gets the phrase arresting out of its context. Now and then he is gentler, his language more honeyed, his rhythms less rugged, and in poems likeSummer Nighthe falls into a beautiful and a very "contemporary" music.
That, andJacob's Ladder, andThe Cedar, and the uncanny and impressiveChelsburyare among the best things in the book; the last two show his historic imagination at its best, economical though the expression is. But the best of all, we think, isIn the Fire.
The fire burns low;Now the dying embersTwinkle and glowLike village lights,Seen from the heightsIn dark Decembers.There's the foggy gleamFrom the Horse and Groom,Where topers dreamIn front of their liquor,And candles flickerAs pipes allume ...
The fire burns low;Now the dying embersTwinkle and glowLike village lights,Seen from the heightsIn dark Decembers.There's the foggy gleamFrom the Horse and Groom,Where topers dreamIn front of their liquor,And candles flickerAs pipes allume ...
The fire burns low;Now the dying embersTwinkle and glowLike village lights,Seen from the heightsIn dark Decembers.
There's the foggy gleamFrom the Horse and Groom,Where topers dreamIn front of their liquor,And candles flickerAs pipes allume ...
The whole village passes across the vision: the smithy, a pair in a farm, an amber blind with girls' shadows on it, a candle and one reading in a loft: the lights go out one by one till all is dark. It is a charming picture, and the stanza is beautifully suited to it. It is a pity that Mr. Hewlett mars it in places with a stumbling-block word or rhyme.
It must be confessed that the very title of Mr. Graves's new book awakes in us a feeling of pleasure. Mr. Graves has aflairfor titles. We remember hisBeside the BrazierandFairies and Fusilierswith a sense that the author has always succeeded in getting a suggestion of his individual quality into the names of his books. In the volume before us Mr. Graves repeats some of his former successes. The poemA Frosty Nightis a good example of that dialogue form which Mr. Graves uses with great skill, and in which we may see the influence of the old ballads:
Mother.Alice, dear, what ails you,Dazed and white and shaken?Has the chill night numbed you?Is it fright you have taken?Alice.Mother, I am very well,I felt never better.Mother, do not hold me so,Let me write my letter.
Mother.Alice, dear, what ails you,Dazed and white and shaken?Has the chill night numbed you?Is it fright you have taken?Alice.Mother, I am very well,I felt never better.Mother, do not hold me so,Let me write my letter.
Mother.
Alice, dear, what ails you,Dazed and white and shaken?Has the chill night numbed you?Is it fright you have taken?
Alice.
Mother, I am very well,I felt never better.Mother, do not hold me so,Let me write my letter.
It is a quiet beginning, and it looks very easy to do, but that appearance is deceptive. To write with economy and in an almost conversational tone without becoming flat and banal is extremely difficult, but Mr. Graves's hand rarely loses its cunning in those awkward passages of low emotional pitch which are unavoidable in any sort of narrative verse. When the pitch rises he has a remarkably sure touch and can give us a vivid picture without any of the elaborate, detailed word-painting which is the bane of so much modern poetry. What could be finer, for example, than the stanzas that follow those already quoted:
Mother.Sweet, my dear, what ails you?Alice.No, but I am well;The night was cold and frosty,There's no more to tell.Mother.Ay, the night was frosty,Coldly gaped the moon,Yet the birds seemed twitteringThrough green boughs of June.Soft and thick the snow lay,Stars danced in the sky.Not all the lambs of May-daySkip so bold and high.Your feet were dancing, Alice,Seemed to dance on air,You looked a ghost or angelIn the starlight there.Your eyes were frosted starlight,Your heart fire and snow.Who was it said, "I love you"?Alice.Mother, let me go!
Mother.Sweet, my dear, what ails you?Alice.No, but I am well;The night was cold and frosty,There's no more to tell.Mother.Ay, the night was frosty,Coldly gaped the moon,Yet the birds seemed twitteringThrough green boughs of June.Soft and thick the snow lay,Stars danced in the sky.Not all the lambs of May-daySkip so bold and high.Your feet were dancing, Alice,Seemed to dance on air,You looked a ghost or angelIn the starlight there.Your eyes were frosted starlight,Your heart fire and snow.Who was it said, "I love you"?Alice.Mother, let me go!
Mother.
Sweet, my dear, what ails you?
Alice.
No, but I am well;The night was cold and frosty,There's no more to tell.
Mother.
Ay, the night was frosty,Coldly gaped the moon,Yet the birds seemed twitteringThrough green boughs of June.
Soft and thick the snow lay,Stars danced in the sky.Not all the lambs of May-daySkip so bold and high.
Your feet were dancing, Alice,Seemed to dance on air,You looked a ghost or angelIn the starlight there.
Your eyes were frosted starlight,Your heart fire and snow.Who was it said, "I love you"?
Alice.
Mother, let me go!
Mr. Graves resembles Mr. W. H. Davies in the quiet freshness of his best work. If he has a fault it is that he is rather too apt to point a moral. He may have caught this—along with much of his rhythmic subtlety—from his study of nursery rhymes, but there is very little of it in the present book, which is full of the most charming fancy. Perhaps Mr. Graves's most characteristic work is to be found in such a poem asVain and Careless, which begins:
Lady, lovely lady,Careless and gay!Once when a beggar calledShe gave her child away,
Lady, lovely lady,Careless and gay!Once when a beggar calledShe gave her child away,
Lady, lovely lady,Careless and gay!Once when a beggar calledShe gave her child away,
and which continues in a quaint fantasy of thought and expression that is entirely Mr. Graves's own, and is an original contribution to modern poetry. One of the best poems in the book is calledThunder at Night, and it describes two children into whose dreams the real thunderstorm outside their house enters. The boy is dreaming of a bear, the girl of monkeys and snakes. The hot, confused feeling of the night is vividly suggested and then the poem suddenly ends with a stanza that is a complete change in temperature and beautifully suggests the approaching dawn:
They cannot guess, could not be toldHow soon comes careless day,With birds and dandelions gold,Wet grass, cool scents of May.
They cannot guess, could not be toldHow soon comes careless day,With birds and dandelions gold,Wet grass, cool scents of May.
They cannot guess, could not be toldHow soon comes careless day,With birds and dandelions gold,Wet grass, cool scents of May.
The book is well namedCountry Sentiment, for it has much of the beauty and the fragrance of the countryside.
Of the authors of these three books of verse Mr. Henry W. Nevinson is the only one who has made a reputation as a prose-writer, and it is not surprising that his work should show the widest range of thought and expression. His poems maintain a high level of accomplishment; here, for example, is a sonnet:
A German Winter.
On leagues of solid land the snow lies deep,The snow falls crumbling from the leaden sky;All but the fir is white; with timorous eyeStrange little birds in at the window peep,From frozen forests come; black rivers creep,Shrunk with the cold till half their bed is dry,Along the ice-hung ozier reeds, and byThe wooden villages with gables steep,Huddled around their spires.Oh, far awayA purple mountain rises from the sandThe golden sand beneath the golden day;Down the bright steep the waterfall plunges freeFrom ledge to radiant ledge, and on the strandSounds the long murmur of the eternal sea!
On leagues of solid land the snow lies deep,The snow falls crumbling from the leaden sky;All but the fir is white; with timorous eyeStrange little birds in at the window peep,From frozen forests come; black rivers creep,Shrunk with the cold till half their bed is dry,Along the ice-hung ozier reeds, and byThe wooden villages with gables steep,Huddled around their spires.Oh, far awayA purple mountain rises from the sandThe golden sand beneath the golden day;Down the bright steep the waterfall plunges freeFrom ledge to radiant ledge, and on the strandSounds the long murmur of the eternal sea!
On leagues of solid land the snow lies deep,The snow falls crumbling from the leaden sky;All but the fir is white; with timorous eyeStrange little birds in at the window peep,From frozen forests come; black rivers creep,Shrunk with the cold till half their bed is dry,Along the ice-hung ozier reeds, and byThe wooden villages with gables steep,Huddled around their spires.
Oh, far awayA purple mountain rises from the sandThe golden sand beneath the golden day;Down the bright steep the waterfall plunges freeFrom ledge to radiant ledge, and on the strandSounds the long murmur of the eternal sea!
But it is the accomplishment of a sensitive and highly-trained mind, accustomed to literary expression rather than the work of an original poet; none the less it reveals sympathies and perceptions which the author has not been able to put into his prose.
Mr. R. L. Gales is an old hand who has written a great deal of charming verse, which has been widely enjoyed by those who can appreciate smoothness and sweetness better than music, colour, and imaginative power. Mr. Gales has a genuine vein of feeling and real skill, as the following extract will show: