The Strayed Reveller; and other Poems. By A.--Fellowes,
Ludgate-street.--1849.
If any one quality may be considered common to all living poets, it
is that which we have heard aptly described as _self-consciousness_.
In this many appear to see the only permanent trace of the now old
usurping deluge of Byronism; but it is truly a fact of the
time,--less a characteristic than a portion of it. Every species of
composition--the dramatic, the narrative, the lyric, the didactic,
the descriptive--is imbued with this spirit; and the reader may
calculate with almost equal certainty on becoming acquainted with the
belief of a poet as of a theologian or a moralist. Of the evils
resulting from the practice, the most annoying and the worst is that
some of the lesser poets, and all mere pretenders, in their desire to
emulate the really great, feel themselves under a kind of obligation
to assume opinions, vague, incongruous, or exaggerated, often not
only not their own, but the direct reverse of their own,--a kind of
meanness that has replaced, and goes far to compensate for, the
flatteries of our literary ancestors. On the other hand, this quality
has created a new tie of interest between the author and his public,
enhances the significance of great works, and confers value on even
the slightest productions of a true poet.
That the systematic infusion of this spirit into the drama and epic
compositions is incompatible with strict notions of art will scarcely
be disputed: but such a general objection does not apply in the case
of lyric poetry, where even the character of the subject is optional.
It is an instance of this kind that we are now about to consider.
"The Strayed Reveller and other Poems," constitutes, we believe, the
first published poetical work of its author, although the following
would rather lead to the inference that he is no longer young.
"But my youth reminds me: 'Thou
Hast lived light as these live now;
As these are, thou too wert such.'"--p. 59.
And, in another poem:
"In vain, all, all, in vain,
They beat upon mine ear again,
Those melancholy tones so sweet and still:
Those lute-like tones which, in long-distant years,
Did steal into mine ears."--p. 86.
Accordingly, we find but little passion in the volume, only four
pieces (for "The Strayed Reveller" can scarcely be so considered)
being essentially connected with it. Of these the "Modern Sappho"
appears to us not only inferior, but as evidencing less maturity both
of thought and style; the second, "Stagyrus," is an urgent appeal to
God; the third, "The New Sirens," though passionate in utterance, is,
in purpose, a rejection of passion, as having been weighed in the
balance and found wanting; and, in the last, where he tells of the
voice which once
"Blew such a thrilling summons to his will,
Yet could not shake it;
Drained all the life his full heart had to spill;
Yet could not break it:"--
he records the "intolerable change of thought" with which it now
comes to his "long-sobered heart." Perhaps "The Forsaken Merman"
should be added to these; but the grief here is more nearly
approaching to gloomy submission and the sickness of hope deferred.
The lessons that the author would learn of nature are, as set forth
in the sonnet that opens the volume,
"Of toil unsevered from tranquillity;
Of labor that in one short hour outgrows
Man's noisy schemes,--accomplished in repose,
Too great for haste, too high for rivalry."--p. 1.