subdued charm to the quietest of his songs. The snatches and refrains which are poured over the novel of Maid Marian, like a shower of seed pearl, are full of the very essence of spontaneous song, as opposed to deliberate lyrical writing; while the corresponding chants and ballads in The Misfortunes of Elphin show with equal distinctness Peacock's limitations as a poetical artist. Once or twice he has succeeded in writing a lyric that is almost perfect; 'I dug beneath the cypress shade' would, for instance, be worthy of Landor in Landor's best manner, but for a little stiffness in starting. Twice in mature life Peacock attempted a long flight in poetry, and each time without attracting any serious attention from the public of his own time or from posterity. In one of these cases I hope to show that this neglect has been deeply unjust; for the other I find an excuse in the extreme languor which it has produced on myself to read once more The Genius of the Thames. This poem, written just before the general revival of poetic style, may almost be called the last production of the eighteenth century. It contains all the wintry charms and hypocritical graces of the school of Collins in its last dissolution; it proceeds with mingled pomp and elegance along the conventional path, in the usual genteel manner, until suddenly the reader, familiar with the temperament of Peacock, starts and rubs his eyes to read an invocation of 'Sun-crowned Science! child of heaven! from the man to whom the whole spirit of scientific enquiry was entirely hostile. Rhododaphne, which Peacock published eight years later, is a performance of a very different kind. While somewhat indebted to Akenside for matter, to Byron for style, to Shelley for phraseology, the essential part of this poem is as original as it is delicate and fascinating. There is little plot or action in the piece. A youth Anthemion loves a mortal maiden Calliroë, but is courted and subdued by a supernatural being named Rhododaphne, who exercises over him the poisonous spell of the rose-laurel. Calliroë dies and Rhododaphne triumphs, but in the end the doom is reversed, Calliroë returns to life, and the charms of the rose-laurel are evaded. It is curious to compare Rhododaphne with Endymion, which was published in the same year. Peacock leaves Keats far behind in knowledge of English language and of Greek manners, in grace and learning of every kind, but Keats, as by a diviner instinct, is led by his very ignorance into a mood more truly antique than Peacock attains by such pedantries as The rose and myrtle blend in beauty Round Thespian Love's hypothric fane.' Still Rhododaphne is a poem full of eminent beauties and touches of true art. It would be absolutely and not comparatively great were it not that the whole structure of the work is spoiled by a tone of Georgian sentiment which we should scarcely have expected from so genuine a Pagan as 'Greeky-Peeky.' The ethics of the poem are not merely modern, they are positively provincial. In short, Rhododaphne may be best compared to a series of charming friezes in antique story carved by some sculptor of the beginning of the present century, some craftsman less soft than Canova, less breezy than Thorwaldsen. The marble is excellently chosen, the artist's touch sharp and delicate, the design flowing and refined, but the figures have the most provoking resemblance to those in the fashion-books of the last age but one. EDMUND W. GOSSE. [From Rhododaphne.] THE SPELL OF THE LAUREL-ROSE. Oh youth, beware! that laurel-rose The chalice of unnatural spells. By whose false hands that flower was given, With whirlwind wings the labouring deep. Their words of power can make the streams Roll refluent on their mountain-springs, Can torture sleep with direful dreams, And on the shapes of earthly things, Man, beast, bird, fish, with influence strange, And fix in marble bonds the form And give to senseless stones and stocks THE VENGEANCE OF BACCHUS. Bacchus by the lonely ocean On the vessel's deck they placed him "Tis a god in mortal form! Seek the land; repair your error Ere his wrath invoke the storm.' 'Silence!' cried the frowning master, Gurgling in ambrosial lustre Flows the purple-eddying wine: O'er the yard-arms trail and cluster Tendrils of the mantling vine : Grapes, beneath the broad leaves springing, Blushing as in vintage-hours, Droop, while round the tall mast clinging Fast with graceful berries blackening :- Then in fear the cordage slackening, Roared: the pirate-crew, despairing, Through the azure depths they flitted Saved, and made him rich and great. |