DURING the last five or six years the readers, WORDSWORTH, without the mannerism of

of Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine have been from time to time delighted by the appearance in that popular miscellany of various papers under the signature of ARCHEUS. Among them has been a series in prose, entitled "Legendary Lore," from which "The Onyx Ring," a story of thrilling interest, and several other essays and tales, have been reprinted in this country. But superior to the prose articles-beautiful and highly wrought as these are-are the author's poetical writings, distinguished alike for purity of thought, delicacy of fancy, and depth and tenderness of feeling. "They have the pleasing tone of

phrase and imagery by which the imitators of that poet are distinguished."

A collection of these poems, with one much longer than any that had appeared in Blackwood's Magazine, entitled "The Sexton's Daughter," was published in London, in 1839, and it was then discovered that they were written by JOHN STERLING, in early life a clergyman, and latterly a student in philosophy and man of letters. He subsequently wrote "Hymns of a Hermit" and "Strafford, a Tragedy." Since the first edition of this work was published we have heard of his death, which occurred in September, 1844.


DEAR child! whom sleep can hardly tame,
As live and beautiful as flame,
Thou glancest round my graver hours
As if thy crown of wild-wood flowers
Were not by mortal forehead worn,
But on the summer breeze were borne,
Or on a mountain streamlet's waves,
Came glistening down from dreamy caves.
With bright round cheek, amid whose glow
Delight and wonder come and go,
And eyes whose inward meanings play,
Congenial with the light of day,
And brow so calm, a home for thought,
Before he knows his dwelling wrought;
Though wise indeed thou seemest not,
Thou brightenest well the wise man's lot.

That shout proclaims the undoubting mind,
That laughter leaves no ache behind;
And in thy look and dance of glee,
Unforced, unthought of, simply free,
How weak the schoolman's formal art
Thy soul and body's bliss to part!
I hail the childhood's very lord,
In gaze and glance, in voice and word.

In spite of all foreboding fear,
A thing thou art of present cheer;
And thus to be beloved and known
As is a rushy fountain's tone,
As is the forest's leafy shade,

Or blackbird's hidden serenade:

Thou art a flash that lights the whole;
A gush from nature's vernal soul.

And yet, dear child! within thee lives
A power that deeper feeling gives,
That makes thee more than light or air,
Than all things sweet and all things fair;
And sweet and fair as aught may be,
Diviner life belongs to thee,
For mid thine aimless joys began
The perfect heart and will of man.
Thus what thou art foreshows to me
How greater far thou soon shalt be;
And while amid thy garlands blow
The winds that warbling come and go,
Ever within not loud but clear
Prophetic murmur fills the ear,
And says that every human birth
Anew discloses God to earth.


I LOOK'D upon a plain of green,
That some one call'd the land of prose,
Where many living things were seen,
In movement or repose.

I look'd upon a stately hill

That well was named the mount of song,
Where golden shadows dwelt at will
The woods and streams among.

But most this fact my wonder bred,
Though known by all the nobly wise,-

It was the mountain streams that fed
The fair green plain's amenities.

« VorigeDoorgaan »